The young man, then, turned to the right, and, passing the church, quickly left the village behind. He had not met a soul, nor heard a human sound: doubtless people kept within doors on account of the nipping air; as for noise, most of the habitual producers thereof were probably at the ale-house. Presently the way bent to the left, and seemed for awhile to run nearly parallel to the other road. Everell felt Georgiana shiver slightly in his arms. He stopped his horse, and, hearing no sound as of anybody in pursuit, he undid his cloak and contrived to wrap it around her. He then set forward again, though at a less mad pace.
In all this time Georgiana had not uttered a word; nor Everell to her, his only exclamations having been addressed to the horse. What were her feelings? We know that she was being carried away by force, in a dress certainly not designed for travel on a cold and dark night, and without bag or baggage; carried away on horseback, without her consent, by a reckless young gentleman whose neck was now doubly in danger—nay, trebly so, for at that time abduction and horse-stealing were both hanging matters, no less than treason; carried away by sheer strength of arm, even as any Sabine or other woman who ever underwent the experience of marriage by capture; carried away unceremoniously and suddenly—but by the man she loved! Was she entirely shocked, indignant, and terrified? Let us leave it to the imagination of other young ladies of her age—and perhaps of young ladies a few years older. Whatever Georgiana’s feelings may have been, they were constantly mingled with the questions, “What next? Where now? What is he going to do?”
Everell was proposing to himself that same riddle. He wondered what he _was_ going to do. For the present, the only thing was to push on. Not until a considerable distance lay between him and Foxwell Court would he dare seek shelter. How long could Georgiana endure the cold and fatigue? How long could the horse travel? No doubt a stop must needs be made during the night, at some village inn or farmhouse, where a plausible story would have to be told in order to account for their situation and to obtain admittance—a story of the lady being robbed and left for dead by the roadside, and found there by her present custodian; or some such tale. Would Georgiana deny his account, and seek to frustrate him, as in honesty she ought to do? He must prevent that by dire threats, must enforce her to silence upon penalties of wholesale disaster, so that she must feel bound by every womanly fear, by conscience itself, to avert the greater evil of tragedy to all concerned, by obeying his commands. She must be in terror of him, and of the consequences of resisting his will. If he frightened and offended her, he must hope to make his peace and atonement later. Would she really need such thorough intimidation? would not mere formal compulsion suffice—such as might serve as a woman’s excuse for not making the protest that strict duty required? He could not be sure, and he dared not ask her: he resolved to take no risks; she should have ample reason to feel justified in non-resistance. But should all his commands and menaces not avail?—would he make good his threats? He knew not: so far, he could only hope the occasion would not arise.