“It was poison—why not?” she answered. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. But it was hopelessly hard to put. ‘That is why I have come to England, you understand. Besides, she will do no such thing. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer.
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