" "Come, Sir!" thundered the latter, "no trifling! Perhaps," he added, opening a warrant, "you'll obey this mandate?" "A warrant!" ejaculated Kneebone, starting to his feet. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. But if you mean to take me to this Gérard, I shall know what to say to him. "God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" CHAPTER VII.
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