. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. ‘Something for you, Lucy?’ he asked, interrupting a heated argument that had obviously been in progress for some little time before their arrival. It was Blueskin. 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. Ramage demurred. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. ‘Assuredly it is locked up.
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