He patted the hand on his sleeve. He brought me past this house, and I thought I would call and leave your brother’s letter. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. By and by he ventured to peer into this window. 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.
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