"On that night,—in this room,—in your presence, Blueskin,— in yours Mr. Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. For a few minutes all was silent. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. " "Here he is!" cried Ireton, as the knocking was heard without. The noose was at its throat when I called for help. "I'll tell you why," he said.
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