"Can't you stop them?" Julia asked once more.
"No."
The monosyllable, the absence of comfort or encouragement, said much. So also said Harvey's bent brows. Julia grew paler, and shrank an inch closer to him. The thought came to her that she ought to pray, and she tried, but her mind was a blank, every faculty being concentrated into one fearful expectant gaze ahead.
Up and up the slope they thundered, till in a moment burst upon Julia the long vista of that straight descent which had been in Harvey's mind as a vivid picture of peril near.
A strong rutted road, with a wall on one side, a hedge and a ditch on the other, scarcely curving at all until far below, where a sharp bend shut off what lay beyond.
"Harvey!" did at last leave Julia's lips in faint cry. No answer came from him, only a strange pallor had come into his face, and his eyes seemed to be looking blankly far on.
Both knew that this might well be a rush to death. But no time for thought remained before they were whirled downwards.
Pebbles were dashed aside by the horses' hoofs, and the wheels jolted with bounds over the larger stones. It was as much as Julia could do to keep her seat. She held on firmly, noting with a singular keenness of perception her husband's blanched look. Could it mean fear? He was a brave man ordinarily, not given to showing fear.
Suddenly he spoke, not turning his head—
"If we get round that corner it may be all right, but if not—"