But his grief was of short duration. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. It was in this state that Mark McCloskey caught her. They were those of the Irish watchman. 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. Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined.
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