The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. "Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. 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. Hill, Meysey Hill. “I want to be your friend,” he said. ’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand.
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