What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. 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. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping.
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