Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. For a time she furnished the flat. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. “But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles.
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