"My portrait!" echoed Jack. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. “There is something which I must say to you. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. unless a copyright notice is included. "And now, I've one further request," faltered Jack; "though I scarcely know how to make it. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. "My child! my child!" exclaimed Mrs. .
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