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. Is that it? I thought this very pretty. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. 58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone.
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