Mr. There was a strange quality of steel in this pretty creature. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. 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. A maidservant held the front door open. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it.
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