"You may say that I will do as he desires," answered Cecilia: "but beware how you mention to a soul that you have been here. Forget my name as if you had never heard it." "Yes, ma'am—to be sure," replied the boy; "and thank'ee kindly." He then pocketed the money, and took his departure. "Newgate, Newgate!" thought Lady Cecilia, when she was once more alone: "there is something chilling—menacing—awful in that name! And yet I must penetrate into those gloomy cells to see—whom? A murderer! Oh! who would have thought that the rich, the handsome, the renowned, the courted, the flattered rector of St. David's would become an inmate of Newgate? A murderer! Ah—my God, the mere idea is horrible! And that uncouth boy who said coolly that he was certain to be hanged! Reginald—Reginald, to what have you come? Would it not have been better to dare exposure—contumely—infamy—reproach, than to risk such an appalling alternative? But reputation was dearer to this man than aught in the world beside! And he is rich:—what will he do with his wealth? Perhaps it is for _that_ he desires my presence? Who knows?" This idea determined Lady Cecilia upon visiting Newgate on the following day. She did not reflect that she herself was the first link in that chain which had so rapidly wound itself around the unhappy man, until it paralysed his limbs in a criminal gaol. She often asked herself how he could have been so mad as to commit the deed that menaced him with the most terrible fate; but beyond the abstract event itself she never thought of looking. The morning dawned; Lady Cecilia rose, and dressed herself in as unpretending a manner as possible. At half-past nine she went out, took a cab at the nearest stand, and proceeded to Newgate. She ascertained, by inquiry, which was the prison entrance, and ascended the steps leading to the half-door, the top of which was garnished with long iron spikes. A stout, red-faced turnkey, with a good-tempered countenance, admitted her into the obscure lobby, behind which was a passage where a gas-light burns all day long. "Who do you want, ma'am?" said the turnkey. "Mr. Tracy," was the reply. "Are you any relation to him?" "His sister. I have just arrived from the country." "Please to write your name down in this book." Lady Cecilia, who seldom lost her presence of mind, instantly took up the pen, and wrote down "ANNE TRACY." "Excuse me, ma'am," said the turnkey, "but if you have any knife in your pocket you must leave it here." "I have none," answered Cecilia. "Take that passage, ma'am, and you will find a turnkey who will admit you to Tracy's cell." All titular distinctions are dropped in Newgate. Lady Cecilia proceeded along the passage as she was desired, and at length reached a large stone vestibule, from which several doors opened into the different yards in that part of the building. She accosted a turnkey, informing him whom she came to visit; and he bade her follow him.