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. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. Partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources. "And now, farewell, Mr. " "But it is the sight of you!" "All right, Hoddy. Some one may observe us. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts.
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