Johnny scarce ventured to give one sigh. He waved his hat in a
desperate hope of being seen. No, they were in the carriage. The
horses were moving!
But he remembered a slight steep on the further road where they must
go slower. Moreover, there were a few curves in the horse-road. He
set his teeth with the desperate resolution of a moment, clenched his
hands, intensified his mental cry to Heaven, and with the dogged
determination of Kencroft dashed on, not daring to look at the
carriage, intent only on the way.
He was past the inn, but his breath was short and quick; his knees
were failing, an invisible hand seemed to be on his chest making him
go slower and slower; yet still he struggled on, till the mountain
tops danced before his eyes, cascades rushed into his ears, the earth
seemed to rise up and stop him; but through it all he heard a voice
say, "Hullo, it's the Monk! What is the matter?"
Then he knew he was on the ground on his face, with kind but
tormenting hands busy about him, and his heart going so like a sledge
hammer, that the word he would have given his life to utter, would
not come out of his lips, and all he could do was to grasp
convulsively at something that he believed to be a garment of the
departing travellers.
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