Wood uttered something like an imprecation. 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. Every moment. . She was poor. “I love you. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. " Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward.
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