If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. 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. Why did he imagine she was making this journey to England? She feigned interest. Very likely by this time the whole truth is known. “They make me want to shout,” said Mr.
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