To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. "Not a syllable!" answered the carpenter, angrily. It made her laugh, which in turn made him laugh. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money.
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