"Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. 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. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. Small, but eminently serviceable. Lucy cried out, “There is a baby in the crypt! She has taken an infant!” Sebastian struck her across the jaw, sending her flying backwards. ” “Certainly,” Mrs.
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