" "There's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the Master, archly. "It won't do to betray the officer," he muttered. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. The bodies had been found in the river without their heads, which were busy decomposing in a ravine. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets.
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