“How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. 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. . She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. ’ ‘Gone off?’ repeated Melusine, her wrongs rising up to tear into her chest. ” “I had to,” she repeated.
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