The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. And I am grateful to you. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Manned by a couple of watermen, who rowed with great swiftness, this wherry dashed through the current in the track of the fugitive, of whom it was evidently in pursuit, and upon whom it perceptibly gained. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters.
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