"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. 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. "Not a syllable," replied Wild. ” She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears. ‘How do you do? I am so happy to meet you.
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