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. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. This Joan would hold them for a little. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write.
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