Both she and Mrs. Simcoe sat quietly in the carriage.  They knew it was madness to leap—­that their only chance lay in remaining perfectly quiet.  They both knew the danger—­they knew that every instant they were hovering on the edge of death or accident.  How strange to Hope’s eyes, in those swift moments, looked the familiar houses—­the trees—­the signs—­the fences—­as they swept by!  How peaceful and secure they were!  How far away they seemed!  She read the names distinctly.  She thought of little incidents connected with all the places.  Her mind, and memory, and perception were perfectly clear; but her hands were clenched, and her cheek cold and pale with vague terror.  Mrs. Simcoe sat beside her, calmly holding one of Hope’s hands, but neither of them spoke.

The carriage struck a stone, and the crowd shuddered as they saw it rock and swing in its furious course.  The mad horses but flew more wildly.  Mrs. Simcoe pressed Hope’s hand, and murmured, almost inaudibly,

“’Christ shall bless thy going out,
  Shall bless thy coming in;
Kindly compass thee about,
  Till thou art saved from sin.’”

“That corner! that corner!” shouted the throng, as the horses neared a sudden turn into a side-road, toward which they seemed to be making, frightened by the persons who came running toward them on the main street.  Among these was Gabriel, who, hearing the confused murmur that rang down the road, turned and recognized the carriage that was whirled along at the mercy of wild horses.  He seemed to his companions to fly as he went—­to himself he seemed to be standing still.

“Carefully, carefully!” cried the others, as they saw his impetuosity.  “Don’t be trampled!”

Gabriel did not hear.  He only saw the fatal corner.  He only knew that Hope Wayne was in danger—­that the carriage, already swaying, would be overturned—­might be dashed in pieces, and Hope—­

He came near as the horses were about turning.  The street toward which they were heading was narrow, and on the other corner from him there was a wall.  They were running toward Gabriel down the main road; but just as he came up with them he flung himself with all his might toward the animals’ heads.  The startled horses half-recoiled, turned sharply and suddenly—­dashed themselves against the wall—­and the carriage stood still.  In a moment a dozen men had secured them, and the danger was past.

The door was opened, and the ladies stepped out.  Mrs. Simcoe was pale, but her heart had not quailed.  The faith that sustains a woman’s heart in life does not fail when death brushes her with his finger-tips.

“Dear child!” she said to Hope, when they both knew that the crisis was over, and her lips moved in silent prayer and thanksgiving.

Hope herself was trembling and silent.  In her inmost heart she hoped it was Abel Newt who had saved them.  But in all the throng she did not see his face.  She felt a secret disappointment.