"What should I do here alone if I were an enemy? But, come, don't let us waste time in bandying words, when we might employ it so much more profitably. I ought to have gone long ago. ” A flush of excitement crept into her cheeks. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII.
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