"Mrs. . ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. I was—I was a corespondent. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. “There’s no delusions, so far as I know,” said Ann Veronica. "Then, of course, you must know.
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