And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. " "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. She hated living like that.
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