Sir John felt and looked several years younger. . ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. Then his beard was of a reddish hue, and his complexion warm and sanguine. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. It seems to me very silly.
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