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Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. You have thought it worth while to take some considerable pains to resolve for yourself my sister’s identity. ’ ‘And who, may I ask, is Dorothée?’ asked Gerald. The boy she had loved was gone.
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