Mellen sent the woman on to the house, with orders for the people to send down the carriage, as he would not have permitted Elizabeth to walk, even if her strength had seemed more equal to the exertion than it really was.
"Did that man frighten the horse?" he asked, when she appeared composed enough to speak. "The whole thing was over before I knew it—even before I saw him clearly he was gone—you cried out—the horse started—"
"No!" she answered with feverish earnestness, "the horse started first—I should not have shrieked but for that—why should I?"
"The scoundrel must have frightened the horse; did you recognise him?"
"He was running fast, you know, and darted into the woods so suddenly."
"I should like to have lain hands on him!"
"He meant no harm. Gipsy has grown shy of late. Don't think about the matter—there is no mischief done."
"But there might have been great danger; I cannot bear even now to think of it."
Elizabeth closed her eyes wearily; her recent elation of spirits was quite gone. She looked so pale and ill that Mellen could not feel satisfied that she had suffered no injury.
"You are sure that the fall has not hurt you, Bessie?"