The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. "Here are a pair of gloves and a nosegay for you. They will be safe. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. A bad sign; it signified that the heart action was in a precarious state. It’s a damned hard thing to do. Ennison had disappeared. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road.
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