"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Bring in his comrade," he added, in a whisper to Charcam; "I'll take care of him. For I still love her mother. The perfume was the only one she ever used. Marvel, therefore, remained on his probation. 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.
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