A most unequal race ensued, Arthur’s sleigh being encumbered with the weight of three, while Mr. Dawn was quite alone.
One, two, three minutes, and Mr. Dawn’s horse flashed past Arthur’s. Then he drove across the front of the road, shouting, hoarsely:
“Stop! There will be a collision!”
Cinthia had slipped down senseless in her seat, and nothing but surrender was possible now. With a silent curse at his evil fate, Arthur pulled the lines, forcing his plunging pony to a stand-still, as Everard Dawn continued, menacingly:
“I do not wish to harm you, Mr. Varian, but you must give me back my daughter!”
Arthur felt like a coward, but he realized that no other course was possible now. With a groan, he answered:
“I would rather part with my life than this dear girl, Mr. Dawn. Oh, think a moment, before you sunder our loving hearts, of the despair you are bringing into both our lives!”
Everard Dawn drove back to the side of the sleigh where Arthur waited, and said, sternly:
“Cinthia!”
“She is unconscious, sir.”