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. It was a mad half-hour. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. “Mean as an old mule, too. . The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
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