By instinct. 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. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. "He just asked for his coat, which he wanted under his pillow. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know.
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