“I do mean that,” she declared. Or I should have made love to you long ago. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. But to draw the attention of the milice, no, that is not at all desirable. 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. "Any price was better than your head.
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