We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. 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. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped.
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