‘Certainly I can prove it. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Hastening in the direction of the sound, he discovered Thames Darrell, stretched upon the ground. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers. His tone was rough, almost threatening. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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