Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. Wood's at Dollis Hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. 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. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake.
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