Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. I don’t know. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. Celestial Uncles! Spurlock chuckled, and a bit of chestnut, going down the wrong way, set him to coughing violently. ToC For a short space, Mrs.
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