If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. Wood started to his feet. 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. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk.
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