"Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. But the first one was brought home, and it was the beginning of the end. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. He did not move. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful.
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