Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Roused by Ben's warning, the carpenter looked up and could just perceive the dusky outline of the bridge looming through the darkness, and rendered indistinctly visible by the many lights that twinkled from the windows of the lofty houses. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Gerald said calmly.
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