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" CHAPTER V. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. 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. " Sir Rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly. The man’s hand flashed out, but immediately afterwards an oath and a cry of pain broke from his lips. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. And I get myself dirty. Nothing else matters. He did not spend more time with her. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough.
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