, to do anything that might scare the villains; she sat frozen,
staring, motionless. For on the seat beside her, almost touching her,
was a man.

In the dim light it was not easy to make out more than his figure. He
sat huddled up in his corner, his wig awry, one hand to his face; gazing
at her, she fancied, between his fingers, enjoying the play of her rage,
her agitation, her disorder. He did not move or speak when she
discovered him, but in the circumstances that he was a man was enough.
The violence with which she had been treated, the audacity of such an
outrage in daylight and on the highway, the closed and darkened
carriage, the speed at which they travelled, all were grounds for alarm
as serious as a woman could feel; and Julia, though she was a brave
woman, felt a sudden horror come over her. None the less was her mind
made up; if the man moved nearer to her, if he stretched out so much as
his hand towards her, she would tear his face with her fingers. She sat
with them on her lap and felt them as steel to do her bidding.

The carriage rumbled on, and still he did not move. From her corner she
watched him, her eyes glittering with excitement, her breath coming
quick and short. Would he never move? In truth not three minutes had
elapsed since she discovered him beside her; but it seemed to her that
she had sat there an age watching him; ay, three ages. The light was dim
and untrustworthy, stealing in through a crack here and a crevice there.
The carriage swayed and shook with the speed at which it travelled. More
than once she thought that the man's hand, which rested on the seat
beside him, a fat white hand, hateful, dubious, was moving, moving
slowly and stealthily along the cushion towards her; and she waited
shuddering, a scream on her lips. The same terror which, a while before,
had frozen the cry in her throat, now tried her in another way. She
longed to speak, to shriek, to stand up, to break in one way or any way
the hideous silence, the spell that bound her. Every moment the strain
on her nerves grew tenser, the fear lest she should swoon, more
immediate, more appalling; and still the man sat in his corner,
motionless, peeping at her through his fingers, leering and biding
his time.

It was horrible, and it seemed endless. If she had had a weapon it would
have been better. But she had only her bare hands and her despair; and
she might swoon. At last the carriage swerved sharply to one side, and
jolte