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’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose. “Katy Pfister. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. In this attempt he was, however, foiled by the agility of the carpenter, who managed to retreat to the door, against which he placed his back, kicking the boards vigorously with his heel. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out.
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