Aye, there it was, slowly winding up the steep white road, on which it seemed to move at a snail's pace.
She might overtake him--she might--she might speak one farewell word to him, print his face on her heart with a last look--nay, when he saw her he might retract, and not utterly, for ever, leave her.
Thus she thought; and she flew back to her room, and snatching up her bonnet, ran, tying the strings with her trembling hands as she went down the stairs, out at the nearest door, little heeding the angry words of Mrs Morgan; for the hostess, more irritated at Mrs Bellingham's severe upbraiding at parting, than mollified by her ample payment, was offended by the circumstance of Ruth, in her wild haste, passing through the prohibited front door.
But Ruth was away before Mrs Morgan had finished her speech, out and away, scudding along the road, thought-lost in the breathless rapidity of her motion.

Though her heart and head beat almost to bursting, what did it signify if she could but overtake the carriage?
It was a nightmare, constantly evading the most passionate wishes and endeavours, and constantly gaining ground.

Every time it was visible it was in fact more distant, but Ruth would not believe it.

If she could but gain the summit of that weary, everlasting hill, she believed that she could run again, and would soon be nigh upon the carriage.

As she ran, she prayed with wild eagerness; she prayed that she might see his face once more, even if she died on the spot before him.