"I shall wait!" said Michael decidedly with his pleasant voice ringing clear with satisfaction. "You will come, Sam, I know you will. Good night!"
And then he did a most extraordinary thing. He put out his hand, his clean, strong hand, warm and healthy and groping with the keenness of low, found the hardened grimy hand of his one-time companion, and gripped it in a hearty grasp.
Sam started back with the instant suspicion of attack, and then stood shamedly still for an instant. The grip of that firm, strong hand, the touch of brotherhood, a touch such as had never come to his life before since he was a little child, completed the work that the smile had begun, and Sam knew that Mikky, the real Mikky was before him.
Then Michael walked swiftly down that narrow passage,--at the opening of which, the human shadows scattered silently and fled, to watch from other furtive doorways,--down through the alley unmolested, and out into the street once more.
"The saints presarve us! Wot did I tell yez?" whispered Sal. "It's the angel all right fer shure."
"I wonder wot he done to Sam," murmured the girl. "He's got his nerve all right, he sure has. Ain't he beautiful!"