In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. That's the sort of fool your nephew is!" "Not even a good time!" said the aunt, whimsically, as she stuffed the bills into her reticule. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. A large body of the constables of Westminster next made their appearance, the chief of whom entered the Lodge, where they were speedily joined by the civic authorities.
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