’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. But they climbed more than he had intended because Ann Veronica proved rather a good climber, steadyheaded and plucky, rather daring, but quite willing to be cautious at his command. 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. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. . I trust that she will not misunderstand me. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down.
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