Then she saw that Thorn had slipped farther back in order to increase the drag of his legs.  His face was dark with blood and she heard his heavy breathing as he tried to change their course.  She helped all she could while the snow rolled across her dress, and then for a moment lifted her head.  Powdered snow beat into her face and nearly blinded her, but she thought there was now an unbroken slant in front.  They must have passed the middle of the bend, although Thorn was between her and the side on which it lay and she was not sure yet.  She remembered with horrible distinctness how she had once stood at the bottom of the crag and seen a stone that rolled over the top smash upon the rocks.

“Try again!” Thorn gasped.  “Swing her to the right!”

Grace let her body slip back.  The thrust and drag were telling, for the sledge had swerved, and then there came a few seconds of keen suspense.  After this she heard Thorn draw a labored breath and felt his hand on her waist.

“We’re past.  Hitch yourself up before you’re pulled off,” he said.

With some trouble Grace got back to her place and lay still, while her heart thumped painfully and something rang in her ears.  The reaction had begun and she knew she could not move if Thorn wanted help again.  It looked, however, as if he did not, and some moments afterwards she saw that the way was clear ahead.  She wondered whether they would stop before they reached the bottom of the dale and how far it was.  The round sheepfold in the first field looked no larger than a finger ring.  She was getting numb and the rush of bitter air took away her breath.

“Hold tight!” Thorn shouted presently and she noted that the hillside broke off not far in front.

Since there were no crags near the spot, it was obvious that they had come to an extra steep pitch, the brow of which prevented her from seeing the bottom.  Next moment the sledge seemed to leave the ground and leap forward.  Grace thought that for some yards they traveled through the air, and then the hiss of the runners that had suddenly stopped became a scream.  The speed was bewildering and a haze of fine snow streamed past.  By and by, however, this began to thin, the speed slackened, and Thorn gave a warning shout.  She felt him try to turn the sledge, but they were going too fast; the light frame canted and turned over, and they rolled off into the snow.  When Grace got up and shook herself, fifty yards lower down, she saw Thorn standing by the righted sledge.  He came to meet her as she toiled back and his eyes sparkled.

“By George!” he said, “you are fine.  You’re a thorough sport!”

Grace colored.  The compliment was obviously frank and not premeditated; perhaps she deserved it, but she did not want Thorn to praise her.  His manners were good, but somehow he often jarred.  He had not, within her memory, said anything that could justly offend her, and although he was a neighbor and there were no secrets in the dale, she had not known him do a shabby thing.  Yet, on the whole, he rather repelled than attracted her.  She studied him as he came down the hill.