Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. "Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?" cried the janizary. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. "Your son's father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I'm misinformed,) was his friend,—so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack. Mr. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. Presently he felt motion.
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