She knew but one thing to do, and she did it.
Gently patting the creature’s neck she addressed it in soothing words, whilst with a wary hand she held the bridle, her touch upon the horse’s mouth so delicate that the very breeze might have swayed it.
Her hand did not tremble, nor her eye quail, although the ruddy tinge upon her cheek had altogether disappeared.
After a time the horse seemed to gain confidence; his tremor became subdued, and, instead of the wild frenzy in his eye, there was a dull look, while the foam rose to his nostrils, and sweat bathed his limbs.
She continued to caress his neck, and soothe him with soft words.
Moving neither up nor down, to right or to left, with her delicate hand she still held the bridle.
But the danger still threatened.
She saw it as she cast her eyes below.
The ground was crumbling slowly but surely beneath the horse’s feet, and a fissure had already opened wide enough to show the deep, black chasm underneath.
She shuddered, closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them, only to see the fissure widening—the blackness growing more intense.