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" "Holloa! my hearty!" cried Ben, starting to his feet. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. ” Annabel, who was looking very well, and who was most becomingly dressed, moved to a seat from which she could command a view of the road outside. Martha had been careful to make no mention of Melusine, and did not reply to Mrs Ibstock’s enquiry about the fate of the little babe. 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. " IV.
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