Another picture slid across her vision. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. It won't do to knock at the door, and Jonathan Wild's house is not quite so easy of entrance as Mr. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh.
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