Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp. "It gladdens me to hear you talk thus, Joan," said Wood, in a voice of much emotion, while his eyes filled with tears, "and more than repays me for all I have done for you. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be.
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