‘Eh, but measter, thou tak’s it uncommon cool,’ said one of them, apparently desirous of improving the occasion. ‘Dost know thou wert nigh on being done for for ever in yon pond?’
‘I know all about it,’ said Jerome, soothingly touching the horses’ necks.
‘It were a mir’cle as thou comed na’ to grief o’er yon wa’, too,’ pursued he; ‘them’s skittish critters, I reckon.’
‘Skittish or not, I can manage them, and worse than they are. Good-day, friends. I am obliged to you.’
Dismissed thus curtly, the men were fain to move their lorries out of the way, thus leaving room for Jerome, followed by the groom, to drive the phaeton across the bridge and into the stable-yard of the corn-mill on the other side of the water. He related what had happened, and soon received the miller’s permission to leave the horses there for quarter of an hour, until Miss Bolton was sufficiently recovered to proceed. Then, leaving the man with the horses, he went back again to Nita, and found her seated where he had left her, and sobbing still now and then.
‘My dear Miss Bolton, you must try to control yourself, or you will make yourself ill, and alarm your father needlessly.’
‘Alarm my father!’ she said, looking up; ‘what does alarm matter, after that deadly fear? I tell you, I felt as if I saw your face sinking beneath the pond there—all through me! Oh, it was horrible! It haunts me.’
‘It is pure imagination. You were on that side, remember. Think what would have been my feelings if I had had to go home and tell Mr. Bolton that his daughter was drowned!’
‘It would have served me right. I knew the horses. I knew they shied if one did not keep them well in.’
‘Did you? Well, you see, I managed to restrain them, even after they had shied. Never mind my precious personality, I implore you. You are safe!’