Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. “She has gone down into the country. 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. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. Spurlock bent his head to the rail.
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