"Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. "On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. Hastening in the direction of the sound, he discovered Thames Darrell, stretched upon the ground. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. She smiled at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. ‘Go on, Gerald.
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