’ ‘I am not the imbecile you take me for,’ Gerald said with dangerous calm. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. “Mr. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me.
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