“Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. ’ Hilary’s jaw dropped open, and he stood stupidly staring, the nun’s clothing dangling from his hand. "Then, the story of his death was false. 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. Spurlock slept on. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. ’ She was too distressed to bear this. It was the grand nursery of vice.
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