"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. But no; she must step warily. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. ” “Let me tell you the reason you are here. Of you, I mean.
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