“A brace has broken,” he says. “Mr. Pence is going to send to Old Fort for assistance to mend it—when the assistance comes, the coach has to be lifted forward, so you must all get out.” Remonstrance being useless, we are lifted down and set on our feet. Sylvia, assisted by Charley, descends like a bird from her lofty perch—she has a faculty of doing things gracefully which other women do awkwardly. Our prophet of evil scrambles out, and pokes his stick, with an air of triumph, under the body of the coach. [Illustration: The Break-down.] “I said this stage was unsafe as soon as I saw it,” he remarks, “It is fortunate that the brace broke just here. If the accident had occurred by one of the precipices a little farther on we should all, madam” (this to Aunt Markham), “have lost our lives.” “I never heard any thing more infamous!” says Aunt Markham, who does not hesitate to use strong terms. “This What’s-his-name ought never to be allowed to drive a coach again. The idea of risking our _lives_!—Eric, do you hear this? We might have been dashed over a precipice and—” “Not with John Pence at the helm, mother,” says Eric; “the thing is impossible.— Now, while we have to wait, suppose you come and look at the tunnel a little farther on. It is an exceedingly interesting piece of work.” But Aunt Markham does not care for tunnels, and she declines to go. So we leave her seated on a bundle of shawls and water-proofs, while we follow Sylvia and Charley, who have already walked on in the direction of the interesting piece of work. When we come in sight of the tunnel they are just entering it, and by the time we reach it we see their figures at the farther end, clearly defined against the light. “I have a peculiar horror of these places,” I say, as we enter, and Eric points out the admirable masonry. “I never feel nervous in traveling except when passing through a tunnel; but then I always think, ‘Suppose a collision should occur, and we should be crushed in the _débris_ of a wrecked train down here in the bowels of the earth!’” “What a cheerful reflection!” says Eric. “You will be particularly partial to traveling on this road when it is completed, for there are three tunnels just here—two short ones, and one very long one through the Blue Ridge.” “I certainly prefer going over it with John Pence and his six gray horses to burrowing under it like a mole. By-the-by, if the railroad ever should be finished, what will become of John Pence?” “He will break his heart and die, I suppose.”