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. She had never thought of him at all in that way before. Ann Veronica looked bright and a little elated, and she disregarded her father’s invitation to be seated. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know.
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