At least for one moment, it was. . Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly. You Americans laugh at our custom of honouring our ancestors, our many-times great grandfathers. Her shoulders began to ache. 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. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for.
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