"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. That there gatekeeper would’ve called them out again. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. Wood in the deepest mourning. ” “But it is too late,” she declared.
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