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"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. ‘What do we do now?’ Gerald took a pace towards the girl. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. If he was asleep, then she much regretted that she must wake him up.
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