The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. "Fly, Captain—fly!" Aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, Jack, who had viewed the deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his captors and made for the door.
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