She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-mien night to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither and yon like June fireflies in a meadow. “You Mr. Wild," edged in Quilt. Nevertheless, she was no fool, and she knew that they could easily break loose and cause her to fall. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again.
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