He took up his hat and went. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. Without her, it was lonely. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. He grunted, and his grip gave. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. 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.
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