For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. A coach was also in attendance, at a little distance. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. 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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