The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 161: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A NIGHT OF BLOOD 139 followed, and by these were they assured that the former cry was neither a delusion on their part nor a mischievous jest on that of others. Toward the building they accordingly hastened, and in a few moments they encountered some one flying as if on the wings of the wind. Under such suspicious circumstances, and with the cry of “ Murder ”’ still sounding in their ears, they laid violent hands on the fugitive. This was Rose Foster, and, with a thrilling scream and a desperate struggle, she endeavoured to tear herself from the grasp of the men, for so confused and bewildered was she by the abrupt manner. in which she had been startled from her sleep, and so com- pletely had terror gained possession of her, that in the wild chaos of her ideas it was no wonder if she fancied herself to be falling into the power of emissaries sent out by the prince or Mrs. Brace to capture her. But the resistance thus offered on her part only tended to confirm the suspicions of the labourers; and, despite of her piercing shrieks and her violent struggles, they dragged her into the interior of the buildings. Thence did the bitterest lamentations still emanate, and in about a minute the appearance of a light > guided the men, with their screaming captive, to the spot where an appalling spectacle met their view. Upon the ground lay William Dudley, weltering in his gore and quite dead, while in his breast still appeared the instrument wherewith the fatal blow had been struck by an assassin hand. And bending over the corpse, in a frantic state, was Arthur Eaton, clasping his hands wildly and rending the air with his passionate lamentations. The lantern stood upon the ground, and lighted this scene of mingled horror and woe. Roused by the rush of many feet and the dreadful shriek- ing of the half-maddened Rose Foster, Arthur Eaton turned toward the party; and the instant that he beheld a female dressed in black amidst the men, he sprang forward, exclaim- ing, ‘‘ Behold the murderess! ” Then a shriek, louder, longer, more piercing, and more thrilling than all the rest, burst from the lips of Rose Foster, ~ and she fainted in the arms of the men who held her in their grasp. When she awoke to consciousness, she was in the infirmary of Clerkenwell Prison. (C(O) MG } KS \