The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. "Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. "Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage.
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