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. ’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity. with you. "These people are all in league with him," cried the latter. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. ” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him. ‘Certainly I am not a nun.
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