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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. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. ‘So it is that you could not help it. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. I'll try the effect of a jolly stave. “You are positively eloquent to-night—both of you,” she declared. “Yes, John. Best assured of that. "So she got away as far as this, eh? But where does she come in?" The doctor recounted that side of the tale. “I’ve been to hear you lots of times.
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