“You are one of the Hampshire Pellissiers, I know, and your family are quite as good as ours. ” Ann Veronica made a sympathetic little murmur. 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. Yon must be mine to-night. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart.
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