We must always move on. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. 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. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. Prudence.
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