ollen-draper,
who, in order to carry on his amatory pursuits with greater convenience,
and at the same time display his figure (of which he was not a little
vain) to the utmost advantage, preferred a standing to a sitting
posture. 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. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker
raised his eyes--those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!--their glare froze the
life-blood in her veins.

As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. Why was he there?
why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not
answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through
her mind. Meanwhile, the service proceeded; and the awful command,
"_Thou shalt not steal_!" was solemnly uttered by the preacher, when
Mrs. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand
glance along the side of the woollen-draper. She could not see what
occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw Jonathan's devilish
triumphing glance, and read in it,--"Your son has committed a
robbery--here--in these holy walls--he is mine--mine for ever!"

She uttered a loud scream, and fainted.

CHAPTER XVI.

Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey.

Just as St. Sepulchre's church struck one, on the eventful night of the
10th of June, (to which it will not be necessary to recur,) a horseman,
mounted on a powerful charger, and followed at a respectful distance by
an attendant, galloped into the open space fronting Newgate, and
directed his course towards a house in the Old Bailey. Before he could
draw in the rein, his steed--startled apparently by some object
undistinguishable by the rider,--swerved with such suddenness as to
unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. The next moment, however,
he was picked up, and set upon his feet by a person who, having
witnessed the accident, flew across the road to his assistance.

"You're not hurt I hope, Sir Rowland?" inquired this individual.

"Not materially, Mr. Wild," replied the other, "a little shaken, that's
all. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his
steed, who continued snorting and shivering,