” “Every one must be experimental,” said Mr. " "Impossible!" rejoined his mother. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. 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. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad.
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