She was consumed by misery and hate. "Do you recollect this key? Do you recollect to whom you gave it, and for what purpose? or shall I refresh your memory?" Wild appeared confounded. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. I will wish you success or failure, whichever is the better for you. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly.
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