"I have no such intention, sir," said Auriol; "indeed I have not. I only wish to be assured that you are my aged relative." "To be sure he is, young sir," interposed the dwarf. "Why should you doubt it?" "O sir," cried Auriol, throwing himself at the old man's feet, "pity me if I am mad; but offer me some explanation, which may tend to restore me to my senses. My reason seems gone, yet I appear capable of receiving impressions from external objects. I see you, and appear to know you. I see this chamber--these alchemical implements--that furnace--these different objects--and I appear to recognise them. Am I deceived, or is this real?" "You are not deceived, my son," replied the old man. "You have been in this room before, and you have seen me before. It would be useless to explain to you now how you have suffered from fever, and what visions your delirium has produced. When you are perfectly restored, we will talk the matter over." And, as he said this, he began to blow the fire anew, and watched with great apparent interest the changing colours of the liquid in the cucurbite placed on the furnace. Auriol looked at him earnestly, but could not catch another glance, so intently was the old man occupied. At length he ventured to break the silence. "I should feel perfectly convinced, if I might look forth from that window," he said. "Convinced of what?" rejoined the old man somewhat sharply. "That I am what I seem," replied Auriol. "Look forth, then," said the old man. "But do not disturb me by idle talk. There is the rosy colour in the projection for which I have been so long waiting." Auriol then walked to the window and gazed through the tinted panes. It was very dark, and objects could only be imperfectly distinguished. Still he fancied he could detect the gleam of the river beneath him, and what seemed a long line of houses on the bridge. He also fancied he discerned other buildings, with the high roofs, the gables, and the other architectural peculiarities of the structures of Elizabeth's time. He persuaded himself, also, that he could distinguish through the gloom the venerable Gothic pile of Saint Paul's Cathedral on the other side of the water, and, as if to satisfy him that he was right, a deep solemn bell tolled forth the hour of two. After a while he returned from the window, and said to his supposed grandsire, "I am satisfied. I have lived centuries in a few nights." THE OLD LONDON MERCHANT _A SKETCH_ Flos Mercatorum.--_Epitaph on Whittington_