Abruptly he gripped her wrist. “I am in love with you. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. Melusine opened her eyes at him. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. For she and this old lady became at once friends.
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