The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. Kneebone, and feeling certain of capturing him if he did so, Shotbolt, on quitting Newgate, hurried to the New Prison to prepare for the enterprise.
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