“Be careful, be careful,” cried Nora, whose speed had increased hut little. “There’s a slope ahead!”
But it was too late for Brenda to do anything. To apply her brake just then, would have meant to overturn herself, probably. The coast ahead seemed clear, and as she had a pretty cool head in an emergency, she felt that she could get to the bottom safely. But, unluckily, at the bottom of the road was a stone wall on which she had not reckoned, and she found herself suddenly going so fast that she saw that she could not avoid it in time to turn into the narrow foot-path, as she had intended. Nora gave a scream, for she had now jumped off her own wheel, and Brenda, seeing certain disaster for herself at the bottom of the hill applied her brake. It did not work, and she felt that the only way to prevent her being dashed against the stone wall, was to jump, and at the rate she was going that might mean something pretty serious for her. Suddenly a figure seemed to rise from the side of the road, and in some mysterious way, the man—for it was a man—stopped the bicycle, caught Brenda as she fell from it, all within a few feet of the stone wall.
The descent of the hill, the stopping of the wheel, had all taken much less time than has been occupied in telling it, but the minutes, or minute, whichever it was, had worn greatly on Brenda’s nerves, and she found herself on the point of crying.
“There would have been a bad smash,” said the man, “if you’d gone to the bottom.”
