The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. " "No fear of that," rejoined Rowland: "such vermin never dare to show themselves in this privileged district. 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. The doctor had not heard from his people.
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