ctly, Sir," I continued. "You asked
me last night who the Mr. Sherwin was who has called here so often--"

"And this morning I ask it again. I have other questions to put to you,
besides--you called constantly on a woman's name in your delirium. But I
will repeat last night's question first--who _is_ Mr. Sherwin?"

"He lives--"

"I don't ask where he lives. Who is he? What is he?"

"Mr. Sherwin is a linen-draper--"

"You owe him money?--you have borrowed money of him? Why did you not
tell me this before? You have degraded my house by letting a man call at
the door--I know it!--in the character of a dun. He has inquired about
you as his 'friend,'--the servants told me of it. This money-lending
tradesman, your _'friend!'_ If I had heard that the poorest labourer
on my land called you 'friend,' I should have held you honoured by the
attachment and gratitude of an honest man. When I hear that name given
to you by a tradesman and money-lender, I hold you contaminated by
connection with a cheat. You were right, Sir!--this _is_ disgrace; how
much do you owe? Where are your dishonoured acceptances? Where have you
used _my_ name and _my_ credit? Tell me at once--I insist on it!"

He spoke rapidly and contemptuously, and rising from his chair as he
ended, walked impatiently up and down the room.

"I owe no money to Mr. Sherwin, Sir--no money to any one."

He stopped suddenly:

"No money to any one?" he repeated very slowly, and in very altered
tones. "You spoke of disgrace just now. There is a worse disgrace then
that you have hidden from me, than debts dishonourably contracted?"

At this moment, a step passed across the hall. He instantly turned
round, and locked the door on that side of the room--then continued:

"Speak! and speak honestly if you can. How have you been deceiving me?
A woman's name escaped you constantly, when your delirium was at its
worst. You used some very strange expressions about her, which it was
impossible altogether to comprehend; but you said enough to show that
her character was one of the most abandoned; that her licentiousness--it
is too revolting to speak of _her_--I return to _you._ I insist on
knowing how far your vices have compromised you with that vicious
woman."

"She has wronged me--cruelly, horribly, wronged me--" I could say no
more. My head drooped on my breast; my shame overpowered me.

"Who is she? You called her Margaret, in your illness--who is she?"

"She is Mr. Sherw