Hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. "Friday!" echoed Mrs.
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