She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. "Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion.
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