"Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. 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 suppose all life is an affair of chances. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. "That's an incorrigible rascal," he added, as Sheppard closed the door; "it's only to-day that I discovered—" "What?" asked Jackson, pricking up his ears.
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