"I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. Help! help!" But her cries were unheeded. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. "I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. Your life is like a funeral March. It was locked. It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if you will.
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