The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. It was locked. Quilt Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. 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.
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