He succeeded in turning the horses into the embrasure, and they, confronted suddenly by a four-feet high stone wall, plunged madly, and attempted to force their way out again. But the hand that held them had at last mastered them. They were curbed. Dancing about in the narrow space, they were forced to contain themselves, till the groom jumped down, and one of the carters, coming forward, took their heads, and Jerome was at last free to guide them back to the road, and to look at his companion. Now that the danger was over she had broken down. Her face was buried in her hands, and she was shaking with hysterical sobs. Jerome bent over her, removed her hands from her face, and said in a gentle, authoritative voice: ‘Were you afraid? Look up! It is over now.’ ‘Oh, my God!’ she gasped. ‘It was my carelessness. They want careful driving, but they never shy if one keeps a firm hand, and I was not holding them in at all—oh, I thought I had killed you!’ ‘My dear child, don’t let that distress you!’ he exclaimed, still in the same low voice. The two carters were now holding the horses’ heads, while the groom looked to see if any damage had been done to the phaeton, and staring with stupid, yet well-meant compassion upon the young lady, whose agitation to them was quite accounted for, women not being reckoned very courageous amongst such as them. ‘Don’t, don’t say so!’ she exclaimed, in uncontrollable agitation. ‘I shall never forget it. I thought I saw you in the water, drowning.’ There was an ominous sound as of an hysterical laugh mingling with her sobs. ‘You must control yourself,’ said he, composedly, ‘and get out of the phaeton for a short time. We will walk about a little, and go into the mill, and you can rest there.’ He jumped out, and took her hand. ‘Suppose you alight,’ he added, in a voice which was in reality a command. Nita stepped slowly forth, and wavered a little as she touched the ground. Jerome seated her on one of the stoneheaps, and then got into the phaeton. The horses were now perfectly quiet, but trembling and bathed in sweat. ‘Thank you,’ he said to the men, giving them some money. ‘We need not keep you any longer.’ ‘Eh, but measter, thou tak’s it uncommon cool,’ said one of them, apparently desirous of improving the occasion. ‘Dost know thou wert nigh on being done for for ever in yon pond?’ ‘I know all about it,’ said Jerome, soothingly touching the horses’ necks. ‘It were a mir’cle as thou comed na’ to grief o’er yon wa’, too,’ pursued he; ‘them’s skittish critters, I reckon.’ ‘Skittish or not, I can manage them, and worse than they are. Good-day, friends. I am obliged to you.’