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 was still good at following orders. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. She gathered up the chain, revealing a locket which had lain hidden in her bosom. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms. Wood, softening her asperity.
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