" "Heaven have compassion on you, Rowland!" murmured his sister, crossing her hands and looking upwards; "you have none on me. It was Annabel’s. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. "Do you call this frantic glee happiness?" "It's all the happiness I have known for years," returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive. "I am one. " "What villain?" cried Hogarth. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. " "It's Jonathan Wild," returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him.
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