To-night we leave for Marseilles. I think not, Annabel. But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back. A young man, who had been spending the last hour walking up and down on the opposite side of the way, came quickly over to her. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.
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