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. " "Think not to delude me, audacious wretch," cried the carpenter. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. ” She patted his arm and wiped her tears away. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time.
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