" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. "We've no time for any Bedlam scenes now. “Not to-night,” she said. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. 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. I never could. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now.
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