While this was passing, Jonathan opened one of the upper windows, and fired several shots upon the assailants. From the slight sounds that had reached him in his place of confinement, he was aware that some persons had found their way to the scene of slaughter, and in a state of the most intense anxiety awaited the result of their investigation, prepared for the worst. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. “Lady Mackinnor,” she said, “I am sure that you must have heard of Mr. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband.
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