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. " "Dying!" echoed the knight. ‘Oh, mon dieu. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. ‘It could not be helped, whichever way I made my presence known. It wasn’t pretty. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience. Well, this is OUR thing. But a girl is soiled not only by evil but by the proximity of evil, and a reputation for rashness may do her as serious an injury as really reprehensible conduct. .
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