” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. Kneebone, or, as he would have preferred being styled, Captain Kneebone, was not perfectly satisfied with the recommendations forwarded by the applicants. 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. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool.
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