In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. 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. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. Give way, and let us render what assistance we can to the poor wretch.
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