There was another little thing he had to say. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. " "I don't care if he is," rejoined Thames, boldly. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse.
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