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. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. The fates are never so kind to me. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical.
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