A ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader. “There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. See what your misconduct has deprived you of —see what you might have been. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. You cannot depart hence. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair.
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