“I know nothing whatever of his friends or his home. There is only Gerald to see me, after all. 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. \" Lucy shook her hand. He recognised this object at once. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. ’ ‘I thought so,’ Gerald said with satisfaction. " "Then the sooner I'm off the better," cried Wood; "what's to pay, David?" "Don't affront me, Owen, by asking such a question," returned the landlord; "hadn't you better stop and finish the bottle?" "Not a drop more," replied Wood. “Bother it all!” she swore. “You are an impostor.
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