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I ought to have gone long ago. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. 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.
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