He was now almost driven to despair. Imbecile. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. “You are talking like a boy. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. 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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