“If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. I saw the blood come as he rolled over. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good. "Come—the kiss!" cried Austin, endeavouring to pass his arm familiarly round the Amazon's waist. It may here be mentioned that this gate, destined to bequeath its name—a name, which has since acquired a terrible significance,—to every successive structure erected upon its site, was granted, in 1400, by charter by Henry the Sixth to the citizens of London, in return for their royal services, and thenceforth became the common jail to that city and the county of Middlesex.
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