"From Jonathan Wild's confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?" With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Hastily acquainting him with the treasures he had unexpectedly obtained, Thames returned to the room to apprize Winifred of his good fortune. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead.
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