There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. And that happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. 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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