"We are now safe," said Margaret Flathers.
"We are now safe," echoed Viola Chichester.
"Still this place is lonely——"
"And if that dreadful man were on our track—"
"We might yet repent——"
"Yes—we might yet repent our proceeding."
The minds of those two women—so distinct in all other respects—were now entirely congenial in reference to one grand absorbing idea.
In spite of the alarm which yet filled their imaginations, they lingered against the palings surrounding the field at the back of the New Church, for they were too exhausted to continue their flight for a few moments.
That interval of rest enabled them to direct their attention to other matters besides the immense danger from which they had just escaped, and the sense of which was still uppermost in their minds.
"Which way are you going, madam?" asked the Rattlesnake, who saw by Viola's air—in spite of the disadvantages under which her outward appearance laboured—that she was not one of the poorer orders.