At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. He was aware of Hilary, in company with Lucilla and the comtesse’s daughter some few yards away, listening in suddenly. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. John picked it up and put it in her hands. Now, Sir.
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