re it struck me that my own horse was running
away with me.

My first, perhaps I may say my only emotion at the discovery was one of
overpowering rage.

I did not mean to strike her. No driver, ever if an angry one, would
have done that. But I had the whip in my hand, around which the reins
were knotted for the struggle, and when the horse broke into a gallop
the jerk gave her a flick. I was not in the habit of whipping her.
She felt herself insulted. It was now her turn to be angry; and an
angry runaway means a bad business. Donna put down her head, struck
out viciously from behind, and kicked the dasher flat. From that
moment I lost all control of her.

I thought:--

"She is headed down town. At this rate, in five minutes she will be in
the thick of travel. I have so many minutes more."

For how long I cannot tell, I had beyond this no other intelligent
idea. Then I thought;--

"I should not like to be the man who has got to tell Helen." This
repeated itself dully: "I should not care to be the fellow who will be
sent to tell Helen."

I had ceased to call to the mare; it only made matters worse; but there
was great hubbub in the streets as we leaped on. There were several
attempts to head her off, I think. One man caught at her bridle. This
frightened her; she threw him off, and threw him down. I think she
must have hurt him. We were now well down town. Window lights and
carriage lights flared by deliriously. The wind, which was high, at
speed like that seemed something demoniac. I remember how much it
added to my sense of danger. I remember that my favourite phrase
occurred to me:--

"_I am driven to death._"

Suddenly I saw approaching an open landau. The street was full of
vehicles, some of which I was sure to run down; but none of them seemed
to give me concern except this one carriage. It contained a lady and a
little boy, patients of mine. I recognized them forty feet away. He
was a pretty little fellow, and she was fond of me; sent for me for
everything; trusted me beyond reason; could not live without her
doctor--that kind of patient. She had been a great sufferer. It
seemed infernal to me that it should be _they_.

I shouted to her coachman:--

"Henry! For God's sake--to the left! To the _left_!"

But Henry stared at me like one struck dead. I thought I heard him
say;--

"Marm, it's the _doctor_!" and after that I heard no more.

As the crash came, I saw the woma