The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. 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. Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her.
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