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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. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty.
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