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. He ate of the bread with great appetite, and having drunk as much as he chose of the water, poured the rest on the floor. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. “I do not blame him.
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