That tin tube had been in the dress
she now selected for many months, and it was filled with a subtle liquid
poison, a very few drops of which would prove certainly fatal. She dreaded that she should be observed to take this ingenious
contrivance from her dress and pounced upon before she could break it
open and make use of its contents. She sat down on the miserable kind of bench which served as a bed, and
in a very low whisper to herself she said--

"I must wait till night--yes, I must wait till night!" She knew well that the indulgence of a light would be denied to her, and
she smiled to herself, as she thought how that mistaken piece of prison
policy would enable her to free herself from what now was the bitter
encumbrance of existence. "The twilight," she muttered, "will soon creep into this gloomy place,
and it will be my twilight, too--the twilight of my life before, and
only just before, the night of death begins. That night will know no
dawn--that long, long sleep which will know no waking! Yea, I will then
escape from this strong prison!" CHAPTER CXXV. MRS. LOVETT SEES SOME TWILIGHT SPECTRES IN HER CELL. After she had sat for some time in this state of feeling, and just
before the darkness got so apparent that but little could be seen of the
few articles that the place contained, she heard the door open. A flash of light came into the place. "Who is that?" she cried. "Oh, you needn't think as it's robbers--it's only me," said a voice. "You are quite safe here, ma'am. That's one good of being in the stone
jug: you needn't be afraid of thieves breaking into your place." She saw that it was the turnkey whose duty it was to keep watch in the
passage outside her cell. "What do you want here?" she said, "Cannot I have the poor privilege of
being left alone?" "Oh, yes, only it's your rations' time, and here's your boiled rice and
water, and here's your loaf, mum. In course, that ain't exactly the sort
of thing you have been accustomed to; but it's all the county
allows--only between you and me and the post, Mrs. Lovett, as they say
you have got a pretty heavy purse, you can have just what you like." "Indeed!" "Yes, in a moderate way you know. You have only to pay, and you can have
anything." "Then even Newgate is like the rest of the world. Money rules even here,
does it?" "Why, in a manner of speaking, a guinea is worth twenty-one shillings
here, just the same as it is outside, ma'am." "Then how much will purchase my liberty?" The turnkey shook his head. "There, ma'am, you ask for an article that I don't deal in. My shop
don't keep such a thing as liberty. What I mean is, that you may have
just what you like to eat and drink." "Very well. In the morning you can bring me what I order." "Oh, yes--yes." "I will pay handsomely for what I do order, for I have, as you say, a
heavy purse. Much heavier, indeed it is, than any of you imagine, my
friends." "Your humble servant, ma'am. I only wish Newgate was full of such as
you." "Ah, I hear a footstep. Who is it that is about to intrude upon me
to-night?" "It's the chaplain." "The chaplain? I thought he understood that I declined his visits
completely." "Why, you see, ma'am, so you did, but it's his duty to go the round of
all the cells before the prison shuts up for the night, so he will come,
you see; and if I might advise you, ma'am, I should say be civil to him
whatever you may think, for he can do you an ill turn if he likes in his
report. He has more underhanded sort of power than you are aware of,
Mrs. Lovett; so you had better, as I say, be civil to him, and keep your
thoughts to yourself. Where's the odds, you know, ma'am?" "I am much obliged to you for this advice, and I will pay you for it. There is a couple of guineas for you as a slight remembrance of me, and
let others say what they will, you at least will not accuse me of
ingratitude for any benefit conferred upon me." "That I won't, ma'am; but here he comes. Mum is the word about what I
have said, or else my place would not be worth much, I can tell you." "Depend upon me." The turnkey, with a great show of respect, backed out of the cell as the
chaplain entered it. "Well, Mrs. Lovett," said the pious individual, "I hope to find you in a
better frame of mind than upon my last visit to you." "Sir," said Mrs. Lovett, "if you will come to me at your own hour in the
morning, I shall then present myself to you in a different manner, and I
shall no longer object to anything you may be pleased to say to me." "What a blessed conversion. Really, now, this is very satisfactory
indeed. Mrs. Lovett, of course you are a very great sinner, but if you
attend to me, I can warrant your being received in the other world by
ten thousand angels." "I thank you, sir. Half the number would be quite sufficient, I feel
assured, for my poor deserts." "Oh no, ten thousand--ten thousand. Not one less than that number. But
if you have any doubts about the reality of flames everlasting, I shall
have great satisfaction in removing them, by holding your hand for a few
moments in the flame of this candle." "You are very kind," said Mrs. Lovett, "but I shall be quite as well
convinced if you hold yours, as I shall then I hope see the agony
depicted in your countenance." "Humph!--ah! No, I would rather not exactly. But quite rejoicing that
you are in so very pious a frame of mind, I shall have the pleasure of
seeing you to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock." "That will do very well," said Mrs. Lovett. The chaplain, thinking he had made quite a wonderful convert in Mrs.
Lovett, and with serious thoughts of getting somebody to write a tract
for him on the subject, left the cell, little suspecting how he was to
be duped. "Well, you did gammon him," said the turnkey, "I will say that for you." "Can you not leave me a light?" "Agin the rules. Can't do it; but I'll wait till you have put the
mattress to rights, if you like." "Oh, no. It will do very well. Good night." "Good night, Ma'am Lovett, and thank you for me. They may say what they
likes about you, but I will stick up for you, so far that you are
liberal with your tin, and that's a very good thing indeed. I ain't
quite sure that it isn't everything, as this here world goes." The door of the cell was closed, and the last rays of the turnkey's
candle disappeared. Mrs. Lovett was alone again in her dreary cell. The darkness now was very intense, indeed: for during the few minutes
that she had been conversing with the chaplain, the twilight had almost
faded away, dropping quite into night, so that not an object was visible
in the cell. She heard the turnkey's footsteps die away in the distance,
and then indeed she felt truly alone. "And I shall not see the sunlight of another day," she said. "My
pilgrimage is over." She pronounced these words with a shudder, for even she could not at
such a moment feel quite at ease.