My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. When Claude Du Val was in Newgate thrown, He carved his name on the dungeon stone; Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "You have carved your epitaph, Claude Du Val, With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "This S wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better. But you——” Something seemed to catch his breath.
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