Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. 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. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished.
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