” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. But recently he had asked God to pile it all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion for Ruth. Meysey Hill—never your wife. 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. Please sit with me. Here was one that subtly mocked her.
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