CHAPTER XIII. " "I cannot consent to it," replied Sir Rowland firmly. A paralyzing horror was upon her. ’ Gerald let out a sigh both relieved and satisfied and repeated the name. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet.
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