He tightened his grasp. "You are worn with fatigue; fanciful!" he replied.
"The end!" she repeated, passionately. "Yes; the end!" And threw off his hand. "Look!"
He followed her eyes. "Waving plumes!" he cried. "And drawing nearer! Come, Jacqueline! let us ride on!"
"How?" she answered, in a lifeless tone. "The bridge will not hold."
For answer he turned his horse to it; proceeded slowly across. It wavered and bent; her wide-opened eyes followed him; once she lifted her hand to her breast, and then became conscious he stood on the opposite bank, calling her to follow. She started; a strange smile was on her lips, and touching her horse sharply, she obeyed.
"Is it to death he has called me?" she asked herself.
In her ears sounded the swash and eddying of the current; she closed her eyes to keep from falling, when she felt a hand on the bridle, and in a moment had reached the opposite shore. The jester made no motion to remount, but remained at her horse's head, closely surveying the road they had traveled.
"Must we go on?" she said, mechanically.
"Only one of them can cross at a time," he answered, without stirring. "It is better to meet them here."
"Oh," she spoke up, "if the waters would only rise a little more and carry away the bridge."