The pistol was discharged, and one end of the sheet waved wildly at the same time.
The mettlesome horses were badly frightened and reared and plunged wildly.
"Oh, Robert, we will be killed!" burst from Mrs. Vernon's lips. "We will be thrown over the cliff!"
"Don't jump!" he answered, as he saw her rise up as if to leap from the carriage.
He held the reins tightly and spoke to the team as gently as possible. But now another pistol shot rang out, and off sped the team on a furious gallop down the cliff road, with the carriage bumping and rocking after them.
Robert felt that a crisis in his life had suddenly arisen. Should he lose all control of the horses it was more than likely that they would leap over the cliff, and that would mean death for both Mrs. Vernon and himself. All in a flash it came to him that Frederic Vernon must have been the man wound in the white sheet who had fired the pistol.
"The scoundrel!" he thought. "If we get out of this alive, he'll have a big score to settle with me!"
On and on plunged the team, the carriage jolting from side to side, and Mrs. Vernon prepared to leap out at the first move the horses might make toward the gorge. Robert held on to the lines like grim death, his feet braced firmly against the dashboard. It was truly a ride for life or death. In the meantime the man in the white sheet had disappeared as suddenly as he had come.
So far the road had been tolerably even, but now came a stretch which was rough, and the carriage came closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.
"We are going!" shrieked Mrs. Vernon.