Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. He drew her away from this thought. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping.
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