A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. She obeyed, extending her arm. 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. ‘Go then. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it. “I wanted to make love to you. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. “Are you in the Service?” She asked him.
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