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Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. 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. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. Thames did not try to cheer her. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said.
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