Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. I stubbornly insisted that we wait, and you woke up. Mr. A silence ensued. At length, however, the prisoner was got out, when such was the rush of the multitude that several persons were trampled down, and received severe injuries. Gold-handled, too. 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. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration.
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