, 13, Montague St. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. None this end. 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. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. Good night! God bless you!" Upon this, there was a great shaking of hands, with renewed apologies and protestations of friendship on both sides; after which Mr.
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