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No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. With the usual precautions, Austin then departed. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. " "Hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour.
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