" "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. The chair was torture. . Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped.
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