She was beautiful once, Lucia. 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. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. " "Keep in your own room, at all events," rejoined Kneebone. "Oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere. None this end.
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