"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. I have said good-bye to it all. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. 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. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet.
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