"What the devil are you about! Will you allow yourself to be beaten by a couple of kids?" "Not if I can help it," returned Abraham, making a desperate effort to regain his feet. "I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. 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.
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