Selfishness. With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna. Gold-handled, too. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. She pulled him towards the bed. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Ruth could not be told now. "So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will. 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.
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