‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. “Ask me nothing. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. They had cried a little, both. Sheppard, struggling to get free. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. This discovery made, I hastened back to London to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard. “I must live, you know. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her. I will have nothing to do with you. Under another name,—not my own hateful one,—I will strive to distinguish myself in some foreign service, and win myself a reputation, or perish honourably. ” He stood up to go on to the next student. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater. 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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