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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. “That’s all,” she said “I’m afraid I’m a little confused about these things. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. “I was sick of the make-believe. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window.
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