What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. . 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. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. A lucky escape.
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