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. She dare not risk it. The terror faded from her eyes. The house became joyous again with the talk of babies and wedding festivities. Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour.
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