Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. 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. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. “Don’t know me, eh? I like that. stare. Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. “Stop me if there is anything you want to watch. “I say!” he said, without any movement. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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