While he was considering what would be best to do, the poor maniac, over whose bewildered brain another change had come, raised her head from under the straw, and peeping round the room, asked in a low voice, "If they were gone?" "Who?" inquired Jack. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. There was plenty of sweet water.
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