"I have killed her," cried Jack.
"You have," rejoined Jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. "You are my prisoner."
Jack started to his feet; but before he could defend himself, his right arm was grasped by the Jew who had silently approached him.
"Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!"
At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave.
"Wretch!" cried Jack. "Are you not content with the crimes you have committed,—but you must carry your villany to this point. Look at the poor victim at your feet."
Jonathan made no reply, but ordered his myrmidons to drag the prisoner along.
Thames, meanwhile, had drawn his sword, and was about to rush upon Jonathan; but he was withheld by Wood.
"Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter.
Groans and hoots were now raised by the crowd, and there was an evident disposition to rescue. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face.