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. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. "Keep a sharp look out, Bess. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. “It’s magnificent!” He leaned back and regarded her with his head a little on one side. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. "I will have no satisfaction but his life. ” She said with love for them.
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