She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. ‘He destroyed the papers?’ ‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. " But he searched in vain. Voilà tout. I believe you have had it pulled down, have you not?” “The Misses Pellissier!” he exclaimed. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. Always at your service. A.
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