"Dog!" cried Wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort, and dealing Jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which knocked him backwards, "you are not yet a match for Jonathan Wild. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. He meets Anna, and claims her as his wife. But you are Annabel. He was at length rescued from his assailants,— rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim.
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