" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. She stared at his pleading face. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. ‘What a fate he finds for me. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. ‘To me, quickly!’ There was a brief hush, and then the shouts resumed and several pairs of feet clattered towards her from, as it seemed, several directions. I wanted John to be proud to be seen with me. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD.
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