" "Of what am I accused?" asked Thames, who though a good deal alarmed at first, had now regained his courage. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. ” There came a silence again. Melusine’s eyes blazed into his. She put a stool for him at a little distance from her own, and after he had seen the day’s work he hesitated, and then plunged into a resumption of their discussion about beauty. "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. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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