What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Besides these, there was a sturdylooking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink.
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