"What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. He knew she would be there, practicing alone in 118. The Tigress went prowling for nut, too. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. 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. The girl’s eyes never left his face. If the boy did not love the girl, why the devil had he dragged her into this marriage? Spurlock was a bit shaky bodily, but his brain was functioning clearly; and, it might be added, swiftly—as the brain always acts when confronted by a perplexing riddle.
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