"Ay, ay, I'll go, fast enough!" returned Jonathan, putting his hands into his pockets, "but not alone, Sir Rowland. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. The buboes broke and God took Lucia's mother. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled.
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