She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. It would make my wife very happy. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. She is something different.
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