You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. 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. Leave the rest to me. Half after six.
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