For Woodcut on page 145 see page 148 For Woodcut on page 153 see page 158 For Woodcut on page 161 see page 166 For Woodcut on page 169 see page 172 For Woodcut on page 177 see page 178 For Woodcut on page 185 see page 188 For Woodcut on page 193 see page 199 For Woodcut on page 201 see page 204 PERDITA 209 For Woodcut on page 217 see page 219 For Woodcut on page 225 see page 230 For Woodcut on page 233 see page 236 For Woodcut on page 241 see page 243 For Woodcut on page 249 see page 250 For Woodcut on page 257 see page 258 For Woodcut on page 265 see page 267 For Woodcut on page 273 see page 280 For Woodcut on page 281 see page 287 For Woodcut on page 289 see page 295 For Woodcut on page 297 see page 301 For Woodcut on page 305 see page 307 For Woodcut on page 313 see page 316 For Woodcut on page 321 see page 328 DR. SWINTON 329 For Woodcut on page 337 see page 342 For Woodcut on page 345 see page 348 For Woodcut on page 353 see page 355 For Woodcut on page 361 see page 367 For Woodcut on page 369 see page 370 For Woodcut on page 377 see page 383 For Woodcut on page 385 see page 392 For Woodcut on page 393 see page 399 For Woodcut on page 401 see page 408 For Woodcut on page 409 see page 413 THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON. [Illustration] CHAPTER CX. CONTINUATION OF THE BLACK’S VISITS TO HIS PRISONERS. Having quitted the dungeon in which Josh Pedler was confined, the Blackamoor proceeded to the next cell; but, instead of opening the door, he merely drew back a small sliding-lid that covered a grated trap, and the faint rays of a light streamed from the inside. “Tidmarsh,” said the Blackamoor, in a feigned tone, “has your mind grown easier?” “Yes, sir--oh! yes,” replied the prisoner from the interior of his dungeon. “Since you allowed me a light and good books, I have been comparatively a happy man. I know that I deserve punishment--and it seems to do me good to feel that I am atoning for my offences in this manner. I am not afraid of being alone now; and when I put out my light, I am not afraid of being in the dark.” “You pray with more composure?” said the Black, interrogatively. “Yes, sir--I can settle my mind to prayer now,” was the answer; “and I am sure that my prayers are heard. But pray believe, sir, that I never was so wicked--so very wicked as that bad man who kept me for years in his employ. I know that I was too willing an instrument in his hands; and I am sorry for it now. The thing that lays heaviest on my mind, is the share I had in sending poor Tom Rain to the scaffold.” “You are sorry for that deed?” enquired the Black, in a low and slightly tremulous tone.