The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. “Cheer up, Annabel. 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. Rank ingratitude, I call it. Wily little devil she is. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. Mrs. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave.
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