" "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. 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. "Away with him!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, impatiently. Out of the beaten track! He must not appear too eager.
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