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. “We shall try again later. “Nigel is like all men,” Lady Lescelles continued. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. We’re handfuls.
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