The Mysteries of London; or, Revelations of the British Metropolis — page 218: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

216 , MYSTERIES Hold your torgue, and take your violin, I tell Ou. : A piercing cry was heard from above. Gruff. understood all. He tock down an old dusty vio- lin, hanging against the wainscoting, one of the strings of which was wanting, and rubbed some rosin over the bow. I think [I heara ery, said Angus Macfarlane, awakening from his gloomy reverie. A little patience, your honeur, replied the landlady ; in five minutes your room will be ready. At the same moment, the bow was drawn across the strings of the violin, from which issued the most diabolical sounds. Macfarlane drew from his pocket book a Scotch skull cap, which he pul- led down over his ears, while Gruff was scraping away the pibroch of the Macgregors, so that with the last shrieks of the unhappy Ciara, were min- gled the notes of fhe most unearthly music. Her voice soon succumbed to the powerful effects of nF AD yeh & rake -. ‘an unconquerable lethargy. They are coming—they are coming! thought Clara, for she could no longer speak. Stephen, my own Stephen! said Anna, encir- cling her sister’s neck with her arms; how kind has God been to us, and how happy are we! CHAPTER III, _ WaHen Mrs, Gruffsaw that the two young girls remained immovable, and that they were locked a J in each other’s arms, she gently turned the key of © ve a