He was caked with dried muck. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. First the passage to be negotiated. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. 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. "I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn.
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