" "Winifred," said Mrs. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. "You'll not be offended, I hope," returned Wood, drily, "if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just described.
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