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—Strype's Stow. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. A creeping numbness invaded her. “Do come and cheer me up. Nothing else matters.
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