. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. "Recollect you are in my power. . "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. Wood's present position, and subsequent proceedings fully intelligible, it may be necessary to give some notion of the shape and structure of the platform on which he had taken refuge. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me.
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