Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. 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. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently. She hoped desperately that Mrs. Sheppard, with a vehemence that shook even the hardened wretch beside her, "begone, and tempt me not.
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