This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. 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. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. " "I'm a queer girl," she replied with a smile.
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