It was the grand nursery of vice. Spurling has induced him to sit down again. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Peste, she had forgot the sword. " "You had Spurlock once. He meets Anna, and claims her as his wife. " "Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. Why would militia be infesting the place? And he must by now be aware of my interest. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you. Every moment. " Spurlock lowered his voice. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage.
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