” Her first upward glance was one of terrified apprehension. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. ” “The truth!” There was a brief but intense silence. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. S. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. 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.
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