Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. One called Waterman's Hall, a horrible place adjoining the postern under the gate, whence, through a small barred aperture, they solicited alms from the passengers: the other, a large chamber, denominated My Lady's Hold, was situated in the highest part of the jail, at the northern extremity. The light fell upon the fugitive, who stood before him in an attitude of defence, with the child in his arms. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Armed, however, with the implement he had so fortunately obtained, he did not despair of success.
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