His initial nervousness had already abated, and it took some valour to allow himself to become embroiled in Melusine’s crazy schemes. She rapped again, louder. 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. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. Lucy grabbed its handle, her broken bones mending inside her causing her to wince in pain. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way.
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