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She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. The general had little doubt he was going to be asked to provide for the fellow as well as for his legitimate descendant. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. 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. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. You said that it would bring trouble. Sheppard, passionately,—"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion.
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