"Do you mean to say that if I support your kid, I shan't bring him up how I please—eh?" "Don't question me, but leave me," replied the widow wildly; "you had better. It might prove rewarding. " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. "It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. It came again. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. She could not see what occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw Jonathan's devilish triumphing glance, and read in it,—"Your son has committed a robbery—here—in these holy walls—he is mine—mine for ever!" She uttered a loud scream, and fainted.
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