What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. " "Good enough for me. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Happy Thanksgiving. Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was.
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