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58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. ‘Was she planning to make away with all this stuff?’ ‘What’s this?’ Hilary pounced on a black item slung on the floor by the dresser. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled.
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