" "Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. I wanted something alive. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. But you belong to me—and I want you. And I affirm to you, on my own conviction, that she who falls, because she has not strength granted her to struggle with affliction, may be reclaimed,—may repent, and be forgiven,—even as she, whose sins, 'though many, were forgiven her'. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately.
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