Ennison had disappeared. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. 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. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. And if I don’t, I go mad.
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