The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. " "Come along!" cried Jack, darting through the door. Blueskin answered by dashing his head violently against the flagged floor. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend.
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