The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. It began as a joke. 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. Day before, send round to each to borrow a shirt. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers.
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