So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. “Every one raves about her,” Lady Angela continued. 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. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. He gripped the window-sill behind him. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. I daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald. Sheppard. Ah Coom. “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed. .
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