Could this be the
right road! How foolish to doubt, when this was my Lady's own coach.
But oh, that it had waited for Mrs. Dove! She would beg her to get
in when the riders overtook her. When would they? No sign of them
could be seen from the windows, and here were more houses. Surely
this was Turnham Green again, or there must be another village green
exactly like it in the heart of London. How many times did not poor
Aurelia go through all these impressions in the course of the drive.
She was absolutely certain that she was taken through Brentford again,
this time without a halt; but after this the country became unknown
to her, and the road much worse. It was in fact for the most part
a mere ditch or cart track, so rough that the four horses came to a
walk. Aurelia had read no novels but _Telemaque_ and _Le Grand Cyrus_,
so her imagination was not terrified by tales of abduction, but alarm
began to grow upon her. She much longed to ask the coachman whither
he was taking her, but the check string had been either worn out or
removed; she could not open the door from within, nor make him hear,
and indeed she was a little afraid of him.
Twilight began to come on; it was much later than Mr. Dove had ever
ventured to be out, but here at last there was a pause, and the swing
of a gate, the road was smoother and she seemed to be in a wood,
probably private ground.
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