But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom— especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud.
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