Her hair was dark brown, and she wore it
coiled upon the nape of her neck; a bright colour burned in her cheeks,
and her eyes, of a very clear grey, met the eyes of those to whom she
talked with a most engaging frankness. And in character she was the
counterpart of her looks. She was honest; she had a certain simplicity,
the straightforward simplicity of strength which comprises much
gentleness and excludes violence. Of her courage there is a story still
told in Ramelton, which Feversham could never remember without a thrill
of wonder. She had stopped at a door on that steep hill leading down to
the river, and the horse which she was driving took fright at the mere
clatter of a pail and bolted. The reins were lying loose at the moment;
they fell on the ground before Ethne could seize them. She was thus
seated helpless in the dog-cart, and the horse was tearing down to where
the road curves sharply over the bridge. The thing which she did, she
did quite coolly. She climbed over the front of the dog-cart as it
pitched and raced down the hill, and balancing herself along the shafts,
reached the reins at the horse's neck, and brought the horse to a stop
ten yards from the curve.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57