The team trotted on to the bridge, and then slowed down to a walk.

Above the dull reverberation of hoofs the listeners below could hear the sound of voices, and an echo of rather forced laughter.

Then the carriage emerged into full view.

Beside the driver it contained three passengers--Beaton on the front seat, his face turned backward toward the two behind, a man and a woman.

Westcott and Miss Donovan, peering through the screen of leaves, caught only a swift glimpse of their faces--the man middle-aged, inclined to stoutness, with an unusually red face, smoking viciously at a cigar, the woman young and decidedly blonde, with stray locks of hair blowing about her face, and a vivacious manner.
The carriage rolled on to the smooth road, and the driver touched up the horses with his whip, the lowered back curtain shutting off the view.
The girl seized Westcott's arm while she directed his gaze with her free hand.