The guard did so, almost too quickly. The frightened horses wheeled round, and, faster than was prudent, dashed under the low arch, dragging the swaying coach after them.
There was a cry of “Heads! Heads!” and then, more imperatively, “Heads! Stoop! Stoop!”
The warning was needed. The outsides were on their feet engrossed in the struggle at the coach door. And so quickly did the coach turn that—though a score of spectators in the street and on the balcony of the inn saw the peril—it was only at the last moment that Vaughan and the two passengers at the back, men well used to the road, caught the warning, and dropped down. And it was only at the very last moment that Vaughan felt rather than saw that the girl was still standing. He had just time, by a desperate effort, and amid a cry of horror—for to the spectators she seemed to be already jammed between the arch and the seat—to drag her down. Instinctively, as he did so, he shielded her face with his arm; but the horror was so near that, as they swept under the low brow, he was not sure that she was safe.
He was as white as she was, when they emerged into the light again. But he saw that she was safe, though her bonnet was dragged from her head; and he cried unconsciously, “Thank God! Thank God!” Then, with that hatred of a scene which is part of the English character, he put her quickly back into her seat again, and rose to his feet, as if he wished to separate himself from her.
But a score of eyes had seen the act; and however much he might wish to spare her feelings, concealment was impossible.
“Christ!” cried the coachman, whose copper cheeks were perceptibly paler. “If your head’s on your shoulders, Miss, it is to that young gentleman you owe it. Don’t you ever go to sleep on the roof of a coach again! Never! Never!”
“Here, get a drop of brandy!” cried the landlady, who, from one of the doors flanking the archway, had seen all. “Do you stay where you are, Miss,” she continued, “and I’ll send it up to you.”
Then amid a babel of exclamations and a chorus of blame and praise, the ladder was brought, and Vaughan made haste to descend. A waiter tripped out with the brown brandy and water on a tray; and the young lady, who had not spoken, but had remained, sitting white and still, where Vaughan had placed her, sipped it obediently. Unfortunately the landlady’s eyes were sharp; and as Vaughan passed her to go into the house—for the coach must be driven up the yard and turned before they could set off again—she let fall a cry.
“Lord, sir!” she said, “your hand is torn dreadful! You’ve grazed every bit of skin off it!”
He tried to silence her; and failing, hurried into the house. She fussed after him to attend to him; and Sammy, who was not a man of the most delicate perceptions, seized the opportunity to drive home his former lesson. “There, Miss,” he said solemnly, “I hope that’ll teach you to look out another time! But better his hand than your head. You’d ha’ been surely scalped!”