Chapter 64

The colour surged in her cheeks, and, with each quick-drawn breath, her breath rose and fell under the cluster of lilies at her throat. Trees, houses, ponds, danced past, cut by a mist of telegraph poles. “Faster! faster!” she cried. His eyes never left her, but hers, wide open, and blue as the summer sky, seemed fixed on something far ahead,—something which came no nearer, but fled before them as they fled. Was it the horizon, cut now by the grim fortress on the hill, now by the cross of a country chapel? Was it t…