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And then, dropping her hands and lowering her eyes, she walked soberly up to Lord Vincent's tall dressing- glass, plucked the parti-colored turban off her head and looked at herself, muttering: "No! it aint white, nor likewise gray! dough I did think, when dat creeping coldness come stealing through to roots of my h'ar, when I heerd dem wilyuns at deir deblish plot, as ebery libbing ha'r on my head was turned on a suddint white as snow; as I've heerd tell of happening to people long o' fright.
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