The Argosy — page 334: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Over the Spligen. 313 going along at an unusually rapid rate. I do not say so, of course ; it will not do to alarm my wife; but at last I bend forward and ask him in a low voice the reason of this. He points backward with his whip but makes no other answer. I cannot make him out; yesterday he was so chatty and bright, only anxious to please; why is he to-day so silent and stern P I put the question a second time, but he only clenches his teeth, gives the horse nearest to him a cut with the whip, and we rush on more furiously than ever. Lucy does not notice this ; I think she has fallen asleep. I disengage my hand gently from hers, rise from my seat, and turning, look behind me. I see in the distance a heavily-laden waggon making its way down the hill as quickly, so it appears to me, as we do. This relieves me: it must be, I imagine, the custom to descend the pass at this pace; the drivers doubtless know what they are about; it is absurd to be uneasy. Some feeling, however, prevents my sitting down again (luckily {.ucy sleeps on and does not remark my unusual position), and I continue to stand and gaze at the vehicle behind us. It has a sort of fascination for me, I cannot turn my eyes fromit. ‘‘ Surely,” I murmur, ‘it cannot be coming down even faster than we are.” I try to shake off the horrible idea and to assure myself the drivers understand their horses and have them under proper control. Some few moments go by. I still keep my watch, now kneeling en the seat, formy legs give way underme._ A thrill runs through me. Once more Anton turns his head, and a low, muttered curse escapes him. His face is blanched, his eyes are round with terror. Great Heavens! I see it all now. ‘The men on the cart have no control over their horses; the weight they carry is too great for the slope of the road, the impetus is too strong—they cannot stop if they would. What is to become of us? I try to remember that there is room for two vehicles on the road; and that the waggon might go past us in safety, if guided by a firm hand—but at the same moment I feel that can never be. No hand can guide that terrible car now advancing to destroy us—no hand but One. A wild idea crosses my mind that we might stop our carriage, get out, climb up the bank and so save ourselves. I say a wild idea, because it is one impossible to be carried out, though I still think that when Anton first recognised our danger that would have been the wisest thing to do. ‘Then for a few yards the Dank sloped away from the road, and there might have been space for us on the rocks. Now this is not practicable. The cliff is per- fectly straight, and besides, God help us, the waggon would be down upon us long before we could get out of the way. Our sole chance as “to fly as if the wolves of Apennine were all upon our track,” and this we are doing. Faster and faster Anton urges on his horses till the poor animals are covered with foam and sweat, and their cConnicloooks (C(O)