Anne put her hands up to her head, dizzy and stunned; she felt like one who had received a mighty shock, and scarcely knew either the instrument or the reality of it in the first extremity of its power. She did not say a word--she did not think--she sat down unconsciously on her chair, and pressed her hands to her head with some vague idea of crushing the dull indefinite pain out of it. Jacky stood beside her, pale, self-possessed, but trembling violently; the girl's excitement had reached a white heat--intensely strong and still. Deadly light and deadly darkness struggling for hopeless mastery--a goal so nearly won, and yet so utterly removed. A long, low cry of pain came from Anne's parched lips; she had not strength or heart to inquire further; a fearful possibility came upon her now, which had never struck her mind before. At length, when the violence of the first shock was moderated, she began again to question Jacky. Jean Miller's explanation of the haggard looks and wild bewilderment of Norman's friend composed, though it could not convince her. She must see him, this mysterious sufferer, must ascertain--standing before him face to face--what of this dark dread might be true, and what false. It would not leave her: before she had been alone for ten minutes, the deadly bewilderment had returned, and what to do she knew not! CHAPTER XXVI. The next morning rose, dim, hot, and oppressive, suiting well, in its unnatural stillness and sultry brooding, with the terror of bewilderment and darkness which had fallen upon Anne. The tossings and wild restlessness of that mental fever, the gloomy clouds that had settled upon the future, the sad significance with which Christian Lillie's words came burning back upon her memory--bore her down in dark blinding agony as those heavy thunder clouds bore down upon the earth. She wandered out:--with eyes keen for that one object, and veiled to all things else, she hovered about Schole. Once as she lingered by the hedge, she saw an upper window opened, and the pale head which she had seen once before, with its high snowy temples and thin hair, and delicately lined face, looked out steadfastly upon the gloomy weltering water. The eyes were blue, deep, and liquid as a summer evening sky--the face, with all its tremulous poetry, and exquisite delicacy of feebleness, was gazing out with a mournful composure, which made its extreme susceptibility and fluctuating language of expression, more remarkable than ever. Calmly mournful as it then was, you could so well see how the lightest breath would agitate it--the faintest whisper sway and mould these delicate facile features. One long, steadfast sad look was thrown over the darkly silent water, and brooding ominous sky, and then the window was closed. Anne remained upon the sands nearly the whole day--but saw nothing more of the mysterious inhabitants of Schole.