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. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. I was compelled to run away. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. You cannot draw.
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