The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. . ” “Happy Birthday to you. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains.
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