Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. So he marched into the street, primarily bent upon making the favourable discovery. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. 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. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair.
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