But she veiled her feelings. Jonathan Wild and his bloodhounds, with a hundred others, incited by the reward, will be upon my track. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. He hated the taste of it. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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