]
As the horses whirled past, he clutched madly at the loose reins,
see-sawing in the air. He held them, and the leather slid through his
frenzied grasp, cutting his palms to the bone. When he reached the loop
he was jerked off his feet with a terrible shock, and was whirled along
the dusty road, the carriage-wheels grinding, crunching, and skidding
within a foot of his head. Luckily the reins held, and when, after being
dragged a hundred yards or so, and half choked by the thick dust, he
managed to scramble to his feet, he pulled with frenzied, convulsive
strength on the off-side rein. The horses swerved to the fearful saw on
their jaws, and pulled nearly into the left-hand hedge. Acton's
desperate idea was to overturn the carriage into the hedge before the
horses could reach the bridge, for he felt he could no more pull them up
than he dare let them go. There was just a chance for the lady if she
were overturned into the bank or hedge, but none whatever if she were
thrown at the bridge. In a minute or so the carriage lurched horribly
sideways: there was a grinding crash, and the carriage overturned bodily
into the bank. The lady was shot out, and the next minute the horses'
hoofs were making tooth-picks of the wrecked carriage.
Acton darted up the bank and found the lady dazed and bruised, but was
overjoyed to see she wasn't dead. "Are you much hurt?"
"No, I don't think so," she said, with a brave smile; "but I expected
to be killed any moment.
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