" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. Every one else does. ” The wonderful likeness between the two girls was never less noticeable than at that moment. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. 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. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. “Exactly.
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