"Spare me!" Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife, with the intention of severing his wrist.

But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold.

He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe.
Sir Rowland then fell.
A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water.
"Give me the link," cried Jonathan.
Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well.
"Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew.
"What's the use of wasting a shot ?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely.

"He can't get out." After making several ineffectual attempts to keep himself above water, Sir Rowland sunk, and his groans, which had become gradually fainter and fainter, were heard no more.
"All's over," muttered Jonathan.
"Shall ve go back to de other room ?" asked the Jew.

"I shall breathe more freely dere.