The house became joyous again with the talk of babies and wedding festivities. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. 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. Stanley, in his effort to seem at ease, took entire possession of the hearthrug. “A little touchy this evening, aren’t we, Missy?” Michelle chided her friend. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid.
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