"Now, Jack," cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word.
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