’ ‘So Charvill did tell him,’ Gerald said, once more staring into the hole in the wall. “I have not quarrelled with her. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. The streets were full of colour. "Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. 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.
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