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. Have you done the trick at Dollis Hill?—brought off the swag—eh?" "No," answered Jack, flinging himself sullenly into a chair, "I've not. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. “In private. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. ” He uttered thoughtfully.
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