Jack was not half your age when he died. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. She looked steadfastly out. With a curt command to her cavalier to get up on the box and give the direction to the interested coachman, he jumped in beside the girl and shut them both into privacy. 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. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. He brightened as she took off her hood. "I wouldn't give a betel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believed himself in the right. And we men would work for them and serve them in loyal fealty. Take your case, for instance. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently.
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