“It’s okay, Michelle. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. " "What?" he barked. 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. Upon this island whither he was bound there would be no diversions, breathing spells; the battle would be constant.
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