Earles answered, glibly. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully.
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