“When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. Michelle winked at her and left to join the gathering of seats in the center of the theater. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. She gulped for air merely, for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the supply to her lungs. 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. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Roused by Ben's warning, the carpenter looked up and could just perceive the dusky outline of the bridge looming through the darkness, and rendered indistinctly visible by the many lights that twinkled from the windows of the lofty houses. E.
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