Perhaps I'd better open it now. Lucilla broke across Melusine’s thoughts. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. " "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. " "Then it was not a dream!" ejaculated Sir Rowland in a hollow voice, and as if speaking to himself. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. 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. It appears that he was an unsuccessful admirer of the lady in question, and he admits that, under the influence of drink, he broke into her rooms, and there made a determined attempt at suicide. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. At last his voice came to release her tension.
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