E. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America. . The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. And that would spoil it. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. 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.
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