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Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. This gate, called Newgate, "as being latelier builded than the rest," continued, for upwards of three hundred years, to be used as a place of imprisonment for felons and trespassers; at the end of which time, having grown old, ruinous, and "horribly loathsome," it was rebuilt and enlarged by the executors of the renowned Sir Richard Whittington, the Lord Mayor of London: whence it afterwards obtained amongst a certain class of students, whose examinations were conducted with some strictness at the Old Bailey, and their highest degrees taken at Hyde-park-corner, the appellation of Whittington's College, or, more briefly, the Whit. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. He drew out the check and the editorial letter. Mr. "Well!" cried Mrs.
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