And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. " "How soon do you expect Mishter Vudd?" inquired the janizary, tauntingly. " And, once more enveloping himself in darkness, he pursued his course. Saint Giles's Round-house. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. "Try!" Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing.
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