Thames, look the door. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. While he was thus occupied, Thames, prompted by an unaccountable feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just used, and examined the haft. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.
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