"
He shut the lantern, which during all this time had thrown its yellow
light on the strange scene, mounted his horse and disappeared. The horse
was snow white, and it passed by like a white gleam in the darkness.
It was pitch dark now, and the horror of their situation was increased
by the moans which Mr. Barnes began to utter as consciousness slowly
returned.
It was a relief to all when the familiar sound of flint and steel smote
the ear, and the coachman awkwardly, with his bound hands, attempted to
light the lamps of the coach. Betty's first business was to unfasten the
ropes which bound the men hand and foot, and by degrees they were able
to take in their exact position.
One of the leaders had been shot dead, the traces had been cut, but the
frightened horses had not strayed out of reach.
Mary Jones was in a dead faint, and, in the absence of all restoratives,
seemed likely to remain so.
Mr. Barnes, his head carefully bound up by Betty and her father, was at
last able to rise to his feet and take his place in the carriage.
The dawn was already breaking, and a white light stealing over the murky
sky, before the mail could once more get under weigh and move heavily
forwards.
Far and wide the downs stretched, silent and deserted; a bitter wind
swept over them and stirred the mane of the dead horse, who lay a
ghastly spectacle, his head thrown back, in a pool of his own blood.
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