Harold was not given to alarms, but here might be serious danger.

Three spirited horses in a light cart made for pace, all bolting in fright, might end any moment in calamity.

Never in his life did he ride faster than on the road to Norling Parva.

Far ahead of him he could see at the turn, now and again, a figure running.
Something had happened.

His heart grew cold: he knew as well as though he had seen it, the high cart swaying on one wheel round the corner as the maddened horses tore on their way; the one jerk too much, and the momentary reaction in the crash!.