Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. At this place of refuge, situated in the heart of Wapping, near the river-side, he arrived in less than an hour, in a complete state of exhaustion. He had already shown the covering envelope and its instructions to Ruth, and she had ignored or misunderstood the warning. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot.
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