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. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. She felt he would tell people the way, control traffic, and refuse admission to public buildings with invincible correctness and the very finest explicit feelings possible. " "I'll have no explanations whatever," replied the carpenter, disdainfully, "except before a magistrate. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken.
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