He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. . Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. 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.
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