“I don’t know why. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. The heavy weapon thundered against the door; and it speedily yielded to their efforts. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. This way, Sir Rowland. Brute! Fool! To have come to her on such an errand. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. 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.
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