"Your Grace will excuse me, but I really cannot comprehend you!"——
"You soon shall, sir! I tell you, it may be a matter of infinite moment to yourself personally, Mr. Gammon!"
"What does your Grace mean?" inquired Gammon, respectfully, but firmly—and throwing an expression of still greater amazement into his face.
"Mean, sir? By——! that you have killed my Lord Dreddlington and the Lady Cecilia," cried the duke, in a very violent manner.
"I wait to hear, as soon as your Grace may condescend to explain," said Gammon, calmly.
"Explain, sir? Why, I have already told and explained everything!" replied the choleric duke, who imagined that he really had done so.
"Your Grace has told—has explained nothing whatever," said Gammon.
"Why, sir—I mean, what 's this horrible story you've been telling my Lord Dreddlington about Mr. Titmouse being—in plain English, sir—A BASTARD?"
If the duke had struck at Gammon, the latter could not have started back more suddenly and violently than he did on hearing his Grace utter the last words; and he remained gazing at the duke with a face full of horror and bewilderment. The spectacle which he presented arrested the duke's increasing excitement. He stared open-mouthed at Gammon, presently adding—"Why sir, are we both—are we all—mad? or dreaming? or what has come to us?"