p breast-pocket of his coat.

The two officers returned to the parlor, where they found Perkins sitting
by the prisoner, who was now pallid and quiet, merely because she had
raged herself into a state of exhaustion.

"Go and fetch a close cab, Thompson. And you, good woman, fetch your
missus' hat and wraps, and whatever else you may think she will need to
go to the Police Station-House, and spend the night there. I will also
trouble you for that watch and chain, my dear," said Pryor, turning
lastly to his prisoner.

"I will na gie my bonny watch! And I will na gae to your filthy
station-house, ye--!"

Whew! Inspector Pryor was used to storms of abuse from female prisoners,
and could stand them well on most occasions; but now he turned as from a
shower of fire, and walked rapidly to the window, while Perkins forcibly
took from her the watch and chain, and put them for the present into his
own pocket.

Thompson came in to announce the cab, and the housekeeper entered
with her mistress's hat and shawl, and a small bundle tied up in a
handkerchief.

But Rose stormed and wept, and utterly refused either to put on the hat
and shawl, or to enter the cab. Nor could any amount of pursuasion or
threats move her obstinacy until she found that the officers of the law
were about to take her by force, and without her proper out-door dress.

Then, indeed, she yielded to the coaxing of her housekeeper, and allowed
the old woman to prepare her for her compulsory drive.

When she was ready, Inspector Pryor would have escorted her down stairs,
but she shook off his hand with angry scorn, and with an expletive that
made even his case-hardened ears burn and tingle again.

"If I maun gae, I will gae; but I willna hae your filthy hand on me, ye
beastly de'il!" she added, as she reached the cab. She paused an instant,
with her foot upon the step, and looked up and down the street, as if
she contemplated for a moment a flight for liberty and life; but probably
she did not like the prospect of the hue and cry, the pursuit and
recapture sure to ensue, for the next instant she stepped into the cab.

That night Rose Cameron passed in the Police Station-House of the
Westminster precinct. She had slept in much less comfortable, if more
respectable quarters, when she lived in the Highland hut at the foot of
Ben Lone.

The officers who had her in charge overlooked all her viciousness in
consideration of her youth and beauty, and afforded h