It must be somewhere hereabouts. Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. 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. Wood, severely, "and go to bed. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. ’ Rather to his surprise, she obeyed this injunction as he led her up two flights of stairs to the first floor. . ‘You were his daughter.
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