"Who's there?" cried Rachel. She noticed an odd new gleam in Michelle’s eyes, a focus she had not noticed before. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. Paris copies London. 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. ’ Lucilla frowned. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. “How are you feeling?” She asked. “I throw it out in passing,” he said.
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