I sha'n't utter a word. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. 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. " "You had Spurlock once. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. A. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. This was the reason he had raised his little independent Company of Light Infantry and joined the West Kent Militia. What was the matter with Spurlock that was to keep him in bed three or four weeks? He would dig that out of the hotel manager. Sheppard, bitterly. But her words were not addressed to Melusine.
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