Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Not I. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards London. The prisoner, however, submitted more quietly than was anticipated. ” Anna wheeled an easy chair to the fire.
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