“I say, the horse can’t go through the Park. The ice under the snow is too treacherous,—he’ll fall down.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
“Gotter go back out again, and get over to Broadway.”
“Very well, do that.”
It was all Greek to Helen, for she had no idea of the position of the New York streets, and it was now so dark that the lights glimmering through the storm only made a more bewildering outlook than ever.
She had no idea where she was, or where she was going, but her optimistic nature felt no fear, only annoyance at the elements.
Faster fell the snow, and slower went the horse. He stumbled frequently, and almost fell several times.
At last he did fall, and Helen was pitched forward against the glass.
Luckily, it did not break, and as she crouched in a heap, the driver reassured her from above.
“Sit tight, Miss! We’ll get him up. Don’t open the doors!”