"Poor creature!" ejaculated Wood. "So it appears," replied Marvel. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. "Mind, I, Rykhart Van Galgebrok predict it. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses.
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