Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. Brendon felt his arm seized. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. The fever came. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it.
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