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. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “This is wonderful! I’ve been feeling that you had vanished from my world. Amongst others, Mr. " "Hold!" exclaimed the carpenter, in an authoritative voice: "we can't part thus. You're alone, too, child. I will make her my Grail, and some day, perhaps, if God wills, she shall become my wife!’” He looked very hard before him as he said this, and his voice was full of deep feeling. She was very pretty.
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