“I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. Jack attacked Jonathan with such fury, that he drove him into a shrubbery, and might perhaps have come off the victor, if his foot had not slipped as he made a desperate lunge. He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. 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.
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