"Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. The summons was instantly answered by a shop-boy. 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. Mike chimed in. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. ‘Ha!’ uttered Captain Roding triumphantly. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action.
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