Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. Accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries.
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