If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. 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. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Celeste he knew. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. ” He did not appear to require any answer to his question.
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