seized me then! I shudder to recall it. I was the closest to despair 1 have been in all my life—and so resolved upon action. To do, when one is very nearly past hope, is the sole means of relief. I turned from Cassandra and looked for the postboy.
“Hibbs!” I shouted. The tumult of the storm continued unabated, making all attempt at conversation a dubious affair.
“Yes, miss,” the man rejoined, turning from the wreckage of his rig.
“My sister cannot remain here”
“Don't know as she ‘as much choice, beggin’ yer pardon, miss. The horses be gone, and the coach a fair ruin. Then there's the matter o’ that there tree,” he said, tossing a look over his shoulder.
I regained my feet and peered ahead into the tempest A massive trunk indeed lay full across the road, barring further passage. How unfortunate that it should be before us, rather than behind. But I comprehended, now, the reason for the horses’ terror and flight. We were any of us fortunate to be alive.
“We cannot hope to shift it?”
Hibbs shook his head in reply. “And with the nags run off—”
“Then we must fetch assistance from some neighbouring farm,” I said with authority, and cast about me into the gloom. Misfortune could not have chosen a more desolate place to befall us. As far as the gaze might reach, the high downs roiled unimpeded to the sea. But wait—
“Is not that a light, away there in the distance?”
The postboy shrugged, and his brows lowered. “Happen it is. But you'll not be finding help for the young lady at the Grange.”
“And why ever not?”
“They're queer folk.”
“Queer or no, they cannot refuse to help a lady in such distress,” I replied firmly, and turned to my father. Heedless of the rain that had completely soaked his hat, he stood at a little distance from my mother, who was bent over Cassandra in an attitude of despair. My sister's condition, I saw at a glance, was unchanged. With such burdens of infirmity and age parcelled out among them, they should none of them be left too long in darkness and storm.
“Sir,” I called, crossing to my father, “the postboy and I intend to seek aid from the farm whose lights you espy at a little distance. We shall hasten to return.”
“But, Jane—my dear—had not /better go?” my father enquired doubtfully, and when I would insist, he added in a lowered tone, “For it cannot be proper to send you off into the night in the company of such a man. A complete stranger, and a hapless one, 1 fear; only look to what an impasse he has brought us!”
“But thankfully, Father, he calls this country home; and may be of service in appealing to the inhabitants of the farm. And as to going yourself—would you leave three women alone and unprotected, on such a road, in such a state? Better that you should stand with my mother, and comfort her when you may.”
I turned from him before he could reply—for, in truth, help should be long in coming, did my father go in search of it. He is an elderly gentleman whose pace is slow on the smoothest of roads, and in the best of light; and I paled to think of him attempting the downs in the present hour.
“Come along, Hibbs,” 1 called to the postboy, who stood muttering under his breath over the ruin of his harness. ‘To the Grange it is, as fast as our feet may carry us.”
I SHALL PASS OVER IN SILENCE THE RIGOURS OF THAT DAMPENING walk; how endless it seemed, the lights of the Grange receding ever before us through the rain; how our ankles were turned, and our clothes snagged, and our legs thoroughly wearied, well before we came to the narrow track through the meadow that led to a neat gate, and a stone pathway running up to a massive oak door, lit only by a smoking lanthorn. High Down Grange—for so, I have learnt, is its full name—was at one time a modest farmhouse, though now turned country manor; the home of a gendeman, by all appearances, while maintaining still its purpose as a center of agricultural endeavour. The house was wrapt in quiet, despite the storm, the fierceness of which had driven all sensible folk within doors; and my relief was so great, upon gaining the stoop, that I nearly sank to my knees in gratitude.
The baying of a dog—nay, several dogs—announced our arrival, and then the