An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. But I'll tell e'e what we might do——" The young man heard no more. “FAIL!” she said. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. Wood fared still worse.
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