“You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. 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. Then she sang. She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. He knew she had been weeping. But they’ve just been to see General Charvill. Come with me to the Condemned Hold directly, and, if I find my fears confirmed, I'll—" He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of keys in his fright. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will.
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