The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. ‘Odd sort of a nun. You are in the hands of a wicked, a terrible man, who will not stop till he has completed your destruction. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. His face was downcast. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. His appearance excited the greatest astonishment and consternation amid the group. .
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