The crowd was also saying to
itself: "It's her! It's her! It's her!" Meaning that it was the
Countess.
"Oh no," said Denry, "it's all right."
And he caught the mule "one" over the head with his whip.
The mule, stung into action, dashed away, and the crowd scattered as if
blown to pieces by the explosion of a bomb. Instead of pursuing a right
line the mule turned within a radius of its own length, swinging the
victoria round after it as though the victoria had been a kettle
attached to it with string. And Countess, Denry, and victoria were rapt
with miraculous swiftness away--not at all towards the Policemen's
Institute, but down Longshaw Road, which is tolerably steep. They were
pursued, but ineffectually. For the mule had bolted and was winged. They
fortunately came into contact with nothing except a large barrow of
carrots, turnips, and cabbages which an old woman was wheeling up
Longshaw Road. The concussion upset the barrow, half filled the victoria
with vegetables, and for a second stayed the mule; but no real harm
seemed to have been done, and the mule proceeded with vigour. Then the
Countess noticed that Denry was not using his right arm, which swung
about rather uselessly.
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