AN UNPLEASANT NIGHT. But justice though her dome she doe prolong, Yet at the last she will her own cause right. SPENSER. When the landlord of the Cock Tavern thoughtlessly gave his prisoner into the custody of the ostler he put Edmund Wynne in the way of the only piece of good fortune which fell to his share on that unlucky day. No sooner did the two conspirators find themselves alone than Edmund began to implore his companion to set him at liberty, offering large prospective bribes for freedom; but quickly perceiving that his keeper was inexorable, he turned his attention to the best possible provision for the safety of those who had embarked on the expedition along with him. It was patent to both that for the meeting of Edmund's associates to take place, as had been arranged just previously, would now only involve them all in one common ruin; and arrangements were accordingly made for them to be warned of the danger their presence would incur. The conference, however, was prematurely ended by the advent of the minions of the law, who, for once in a way, were prompt in the execution of their duty, and in a very short space of time Edmund found himself securely lodged within the precincts of Fleet Market Gaol. Little ceremony was shown him at his new resting-place, for no sooner had the outer doors of the prison closed upon him than he was rapidly dragged forward across the courtyard and thrust into a dimly-lighted, evil-smelling room, the very appearance of which, with its strongly-barred windows high up in the wall, and the massive studded door which was closed and double locked upon him almost before he had entered the room, struck a feeling of shrinking terror deeply into the prisoner's heart. He sank disconsolately down upon the cold stone bench just beside the door, and placing his elbows upon his knees, he propped his head up between his hands, and peering into the dimness bitterly bewailed his fate. He was startled from the train of thought into which he had unconsciously fallen by hearing a sound not far from him. He raised his head and rubbed his eyes, half expecting to be confronted by a spectral visitor; but not being able to distinguish anything in the deep gloom to which his eyes were not yet accustomed, he dismissed that theory, and ascribed the noise to the rats. "Rats, ugh!" he exclaimed, and he lowered his head down again, feeling a trifle less dejected because of the trivial interruption which had for the moment excited him, and changed his dismal channel into which his thoughts had flown. "Who says rats?" exclaimed a voice in tremulous tones, evidently from the corner of the room.