“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Was there anything he could do! "No, Hoddy; nothing. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. Ireton and his friends to taste it. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE.
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