She cried out with the pain of it. Besides, she had admitted her identity. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. ‘The poor girl was thrust into a convent to become a nun. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. Even her debt to him was a triviality now.
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