Annabel believed it, came to England and married Sir John. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. . . “You have the ideas. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face.
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