By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who'se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. Jack then proceeded to liberate the captive from his bondage.
“Jack!” exclaimed Thames. “Is it you?”
“It is,” replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. “I might return the question. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. You are greatly altered.”
Captivity had, indeed, produced a striking alteration in Thames. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
“I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met,” he said; “though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. Night and day have been alike to me.”
“Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night,” replied Jack. “During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in Newgate, whence I have only just escaped.”
“Six weeks!” exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone. “It seems like six long months to me.”
“I do not doubt it,” returned Jack; “none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment.”
“Do not speak of it,” rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. “Let us fly from this frightful place.”
“I will conduct you to the outlet,” replied Jack; “but I cannot leave it till I have ascertained whether my mother also is a prisoner here.”