She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Acknowledge your faults. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive.
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