. ’ ‘And if she can’t?’ asked Lucy. 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 came—here!” he repeated, vaguely. " "But I'm a poor man. The hotel on the Peak had the aspect of a fairy castle. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland.
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