At length, the body was brought towards him. 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. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. " "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. I had no curiosity of that kind. Now, will you stand aside?" "I won't," answered Jack, obstinately.
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