"Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. Burn your palette and your easel. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter. She wished to view Sebastian again if only to reaffirm that there was a human being whose appearance remained unaltered by the vagaries of time and memory. I care not. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. U.
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