‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. I am an old friend, and I declined to be shelved. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. ‘You’re only making things worse, you little idiot. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern.
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