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. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. We aren’t worth it. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me. But I proved it to them! Oh yeah, I told John, but I don’t think he believes me either. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. " "So he is," returned Jack; "but there's no saying how long he may remain so.
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