"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. “Come on in. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. . ’ ‘Oh, have you?’ grunted Gerald, surprising in himself a surge of some odd emotion at these words. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. "No matter," replied Sheppard. Spurling," rejoined Ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns. Also he is ugly. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night.
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