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. You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows. Upon leaning back, he commented, “You look so sad. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. ‘Don’t tell me. ” He hesitated, and walked away from her toward the house. Will you go? You'll be paid handsomely for your trouble.
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