“What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. “Oh, much better. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. Sepulchre's church was covered—so was the tower. ‘But you know. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. ” “I wanted to, John.
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