There came a jerk and a plunge, a furious, straining effort.  The fierce galloping ceased, yet they made still for a few yards a halting, difficult progress.

Then they stopped altogether, and she felt the shock of hoofs upon the splashboard.

Another moment and that, too, ceased.  They stood still, and Archie’s arms relaxed.

Nina lifted her head and saw her husband hatless in the road, his face set and grim, his hands gripping the reins with a strength that evidently impressed upon the runaway the futility of opposition.  In his eyes was a look that made her tremble.

VIII

AFTER THE ACCIDENT

“You had better go home in the car,” Wingarde said.  “It is waiting for me in Fenwick Street.  Mr. Neville, perhaps you will be good enough to accompany my wife.  Your animal is tame enough now.  Your man will have no difficulty with it, if he is to be found.”

“Ah!  Exactly!” Archie said.

He looked round vaguely.  Nina was leaning on his arm.  His man was nowhere to be seen, having some minutes since abandoned a situation which he had discovered to be beyond his powers to deal with.

A crowd surrounded them, and a man at his elbow informed him that his driver had thrown down the reins and jumped off before they were clear of the railway bridge.  Archie swallowed the comment upon this discreet behaviour, that rose to his lips.

A moment later Wingarde, who had seemed on the point of departure, pushed his way hastily-back to him.

“Never mind the hansom!” he said.  “I believe your man has been hurt.  I will see to it.  Just take my wife out of this, will you?  I want to see if that boy is alive or dead.”

He had turned again with the words, forcing his way through the crowd.  Nina pressed after him.  She was as white as the dress she wore.  There was no holding her back.  Archie could only accompany her.

It was difficult to get through the gathering throng.  When finally they succeeded in doing so, they found Wingarde stooping over the unconscious victim of the accident.  He had satisfied himself that the boy lived, and was feeling rapidly for broken bones.

Becoming aware of Nina’s presence, he looked up with a frown.  Then, seeing her piteous face, he refrained from uttering the curt rebuke that had risen to his lips.

“I want you to go home,” he said.  “I will do all that is necessary here.  Neville, take my wife home!  The car is close at hand in Fenwick Street.”

“He isn’t dead?” faltered Nina shakily.

“No—­certainly not.”  Wingarde’s voice was confident.

He turned from her to speak to a policeman; and Nina yielded to Archie’s hand on her arm.  She was more upset than she had realized.

Neither of them spoke during the drive westwards.  Archie scowled a good deal, but he gave no vent to his feelings.