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And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. What was his astonishment to recognise in the few words they uttered the voices of Kneebone and Winifred! The latter was apparently in great distress, and the former seemed to be using his best efforts to relieve her anxiety. They had cried a little, both. " "Let me see it," cried Thames, snatching it from him. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. "Hoddy, wake up!" She jerked his head to and fro until the hair stung. " "Help me through at all hazards, Poll," cried Jack, straining towards the opening. .
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