"It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. Ennison paused by the little gate. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood.
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