Montague Hill. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. 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. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. At second hand it would be unendurable. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. ” She rose up. But me, I am going to England. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then.
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