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. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. "Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. " He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into her eyes. " "Who cares if we do?" retorted Sheppard, with a look of defiance. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood.
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