We're lost. Ennison’s acquaintance. 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. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. “We are to begin our married life to-night—here where I first met you. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. ’ ‘Dear me.
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