The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. The only difference between the officers of Newgate and their brethren was, that they had enormous bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter had left their keys at home. So many distresses— so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. Presently, two carriages dashed down the hill, and drew up before it. I guess. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. ‘And we shall see which of us is more quick.
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