But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. The night his execution was therefore passed in a most anxious state of mind; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the appearance of Jonathan Wild, who, after he had been driven from the roof of the jail, repaired to the Middle Stone Ward in a fit of ungovernable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. “You could have told me about it, Michelle. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne.
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