This one too she read. But also this must not go on. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. Jale off Newgate;' another model of the pillory at Fleet Bridge; and a third of the permanent gibbet at Tyburn. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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