The beat of the flying hoofs was soft now; the two men's voices, fell into a lower key; the moon marked out the line of the road clearly, made strange spectral minglings of light and darkness in the woods, glorified the open fields and gave the occasional groups of farm buildings an ancient beauty and dignity.

The girl slept.
At nine o'clock the twenty-mile drive ended in a long, slow climb up a road so washed out, so full of holes and bowlders, that it was no road at all but simply a weather-beaten hillside.
A mile of this, with the liveryman's curses--"dod rot it" and "gosh dang it" and similar modifications of profanity for Christian use and for the presence of "the sex"-- ringing out at every step.

Susan soon awakened, rather because the surrey was pitching so wildly than because of Goslin's denunciations.

A brief level stretch and they stopped for Warham to open the outer gate into his brother Zeke's big farm.

A quarter of a mile through wheat to the tops of the wheels and they reached the second gate.