"Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Emerging from this aperture, he was about to descend, when he was alarmed by hearing the tramp of horses' feet swiftly approaching, and had only time to hide himself behind one of the largest signboards before alluded to when two horsemen rode up. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. But, I'll expose him. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. It was the girl. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be.
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