but one terrified. They were those of Hope and Mrs. Simcoe.

"Stop 'em! stop 'em!" rang the cry along the village street; and the
idling villagers looked from the windows or came to the doors--the women
exclaiming and holding up their hands, the men leaving whatever they were
doing and joining the chase.

The whole village was in motion. Every body knew Hope Wayne--every body
loved her.

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.'"