I guessed why she asked, and needed no telling which course to take.
And as our boat lay on the oars beneath the shadow of that gloomy tower, she looked up long and wistfully, as one who takes a long farewell.
Then with a sigh she motioned to me to turn the boat's head and row home.
Not a word did any of us say during that sad voyage.

Only, when we reached home and I handed her from the boat, she said-- "Humphrey, I am glad you are staying near him." So, then, I discovered, she believed him living still and that I should see him again.
That night, as Jeannette and I stood in the garden watching the moonbeams play on the water, and feeling our hearts very heavy at the parting that was to come, we heard the splashing of an oar at the river side, and presently a man stepped up the bank and stood before us, saluting.

At first I was so startled that my hand went to my belt, and I had out my sword in a twinkling.

But I sent it home again directly I heard his voice, and recognised not an enemy but that same Jack Gedge whom Ludar had charged long ago at Dunluce to see to the maiden.
Only two days since, he told us, had he been let out of Rochester gaol; when he had gone forthwith to Canterbury and heard from mine host at the "Oriflame" that a certain printer's 'prentice by name Dexter, if any one, could tell him what had befallen the nunnery maiden.

Whereupon he had travelled all the way to London in a day, and had not been able to hear of me.