CHAPTER XI.
THE PALE HORSE.
Sally Rumble knocked at the usual hour at the old man's door next morning.
"Come in, ma'am," he answered, in a weary, peevish voice. "Open the window-shutter, and give me some light, and hand me my watch, please."
All which she did.
"I have not closed my eyes from the time I lay down."
"Not ailing, sir, I hope?"
"Just allow me to count, and I'll tell you, my dear."
He was trying his pulse.
"Just as I thought, egad. The pale horse in the Revelation, ma'am, he's running a gallop in my pulse; it has been threatening the last three days, and now I'm in for it, and I should not be surprised, Miss Sally, if it ended in a funeral in our alley."