“Non. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. "If any one's to blame, it's me. For his own part he could not sufficiently admire the pluck of this lady, who, notwithstanding all that she had been through, had chosen to appear this evening rather than break her engagement. It would be swindling. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. " Jackson treated this menace with a loud laugh of derision.
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