CHAPTER XV. They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had been standing there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek. Never bought a shirt in my life, Mr. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief.
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