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He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" he cried, shouting after the Irishman, who took to his heels as soon as he found his murderous attempt unsuccessful; "you may run, but you'll not get out of my reach. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. ‘Oh, famous. No doubt he has been drinking for days without eating substantially, and his heart gave out. ’ Joan sniffed.
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