‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. 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. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose.
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