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. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. “Contrarily, you are sitting on a sepulcher of death! It 30 is only a matter of time before the Pestilence strikes here again, Gianfrancesco. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope.
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