" Here a murmur of amazement arose from the assemblage outside. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. You do not wish to marry me at all, that is seen. You'd be coming up to Hong-Kong, but you'd be cutting out Canton. Take it," he cried, lifting the babe from the bottom of the boat, and flinging it towards its unfortunate father. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered.
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