Then Sir Jasper and the yeoman’s daughter stared into each other’s eyes, each drawing long, fierce breaths through dilated nostrils. Suddenly he laughed and dropped the pistol back into its holster. Again he sent his whip circling. The horses broke into a canter on the downward slope, the light-hung vehicle swaying and leaping behind them. The very intensity of their speed saved them from stumbling.
At length Pamela said in a low voice:
“At least I have a right to know where you are taking me.”
“Did I not tell you? To London.”
“You do not think I am so simple as to believe you can drive to London with these horses to-night?”
“Why, of course not. We’ll stop at Ashford, and get a chaise and four of the best posters money can hire. We’ll be in London to-night, never fear. Hark, there’s nine of the clock striking from Catterford Hill.”
He pointed with his whip. Pamela saw the square tower of the little church silver and black against the sky. A lump rose in her throat. For the first and only time that night a burst of hysterical weeping threatened to overwhelm her.
“I’m lost,” she said to herself, “if I don’t keep brave. If I don’t keep my head, I’m lost.”
No strong soul ever cries vainly on courage. The anguish passed, her spirit rose.
“Sir Jasper Standish,” said she, “why are you running away with me? Tell me that.”