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At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards.
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