"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall. " "Yes. " "I agree to that. "I'll not believe it. He tried to raise an outcry, but his throat was again forcibly griped by Rowland. There was a long silence between them. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed.
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