As he spoke they began to descend the hill, slowly at first, afterwards faster and yet more fast, till they rushed downwards like a whirlwind.
How did those horses keep their footing?
They never knew, and certainly none that were bred in England could have done so.

Yet never falling, never stumbling even, on they sped, taking great rocks in their stride, till at length they reached the level piece of land above the stream, or rather above the cleft full eighteen feet in width at the foot of which that stream ran.
Godwin saw and turned cold.

Were these folk mad that they would put double-laden horses at such a jump?
If they hung back, if they missed their stride, if they caught hoof or sprang short, swift death was their portion.
But the old Arab seated behind Wulf only shouted aloud, and Masouda only tightened her round arms about Godwin's middle and laughed in his ear.

The horses heard the shout, and seeming to see what was before them, stretched out their long necks and rushed forward over the flat ground.
Now they were on the edge of the terrible place, and, like a man in a dream, Godwin noted the sharp, sheer lips of the cliff, the gulf between them, and the white foam of the stream a score of yards beneath.

Then he felt the brave horse Flame gather itself together and next instant fly into the air like a bird.
Also--and was this dream indeed, or even as they sped over that horrible pit did he feel a woman's lips pressed upon his cheek?
He was not sure.