Michelle was only a junior, the same year as herself. 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. Should be home soon. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. But to draw the attention of the milice, no, that is not at all desirable.
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