He—” “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. As the day wore on, the crowds diminished,—many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified,—and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. It was better even than the hymn-singing. Your life is like a funeral March.
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