The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. "Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. Hark ye, Blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. "If you won't disclose your name, I will for you! You are Jonathan Wild!" "Further concealment is needless," answered the other, pulling off his wig and black patch, and resuming his natural tone of voice; "I am Jonathan Wild!" "Say you so!" rejoined Kneebone; "then be this your passport to eternity.
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