my first symphony!” Brown’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “My God!” he said again. 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. Besides, how am I to ride home without them?" "Don't distress yourself," returned Jack, "you shall walk. Hogarth," replied Gay. Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. Not a breath was drawn.
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