"What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. 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. "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know.
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