The entrance of Shoe Lane, and the whole line of the wall of St. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Neither of them believed me. It may here be mentioned that this gate, destined to bequeath its name—a name, which has since acquired a terrible significance,—to every successive structure erected upon its site, was granted, in 1400, by charter by Henry the Sixth to the citizens of London, in return for their royal services, and thenceforth became the common jail to that city and the county of Middlesex. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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