Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. The terror faded from her eyes. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. They want some fun, and there isn't any. It is that you cannot refuse her sanctuary. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. “The women are taking it up,” said Miss Miniver; “the women and the common people, all pressing forward, all roused.
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