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. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. ‘Laisse-moi. Come along, you mad jade. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. The lights rolled over, and were extinguished. "Yes, yes," replied Edgeworth Bess. It was not a difficult affair. On examining the door, he found it secured by a large rusty lock, which he endeavoured to pick with the nail he had just acquired; but all his efforts proving ineffectual, he removed the plate that covered it with the bar, and with his fingers contrived to draw back the bolt.
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