Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. He envied her a little. " "You cannot help yourself, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, contemptuously. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. " "Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; "you'll recollect me by and by, I've no doubt.
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