The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. And if you mean to use that dagger to slip the lock, you’ll make enough noise to bring ten spies down on us. He then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped suddenly before her.
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