They had both been unsuccessful. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower. 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. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. It was not necessary to appease the wrath of human society; it was necessary only to appease that of God for the broken Commandment.
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