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” “Why?” Mr. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. The report of his detention caused an immense sensation. 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 have killed me. ‘Whereas Melusine insists she is entirely English,’ agreed Gerald. On the way he confessed. I’ve no name for it yet. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major.
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