The driver was
kneeling on his seat instead of sitting on it, and was peering in at
them, the reins drawn over his shoulder, and his back to the horses. It
seemed to Standish that the light of insanity gleamed from his eyes,
but Tina saw in them the revengeful glare of the _vendetti_; the
rage of the disappointed lover.
"My God! that's not our driver," cried Standish, who did not recognise
the man who had once endeavoured to kill him. He sprang up and tried to
open the front window, but the driver yelled out--
"Open that window if you dare, and I'll drive you over here before you
get halfway down. Sit still, and I take you as far as the Weisse Knott.
That's where you are going over. There you'll have a drop of a mile
(_un miglio_)."
"Turn to your horses, you scoundrel," shouted Standish, "or I'll break
every bone in your body!"
"The horses know the way, Signor Inglese, and all our bones are going
to be broken, yours and your sweet bride's as well as mine."
The driver took the whip and fired off a fusilade of cracks overhead,
beside them, and under them. The horses dashed madly down the slope,
almost sending the carriage over at the next turn. Standish looked at
his wife.
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