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. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. "Oh! Jack! Jack!—you little know what a price I've paid for you!" "Well, I'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt. The faithful fellow will never leave me. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. The Bishop, however, to show him the danger of meddling with the church, gave him a dance at Tyburn for his pains. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit.
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