“I suppose the man drove too fast, and that fierce clap of thunder startled the pony, for he went over the edge.”
“Good heavens!”
Colonel Martyn interposed to explain that fortunately the descent was not sheer, and the ground was soft. Moreover, the skydsgut jumped off, and held on like death.
“Mr Grey too. And cut his hand,” Millie broke in, with a grateful glance at the young man. He turned red.
“Oh, that’s nothing.”
“Well, as nobody will accept the honours of the situation, I shall take them myself,” said the girl, laughing. “Know then, Mr Wareham, that mother and I showed immense presence of mind in refusing to be shot out when the jerk came, and in scrambling over the back when we realised that we were still there.”
“Then?”
“Then the pony was unharnessed, the stolkjaerre dragged back, and—here we are!”
She spoke lightly, but she was white and trembling. Colonel Martyn inquired where his people were.
“I left them in the road below,” said Wareham briefly.