Give me your hand. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. There was only one prisoner in the ward. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles.
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