Dunster, who had just risen to his feet, upon the forehead. There
was a crash all around of splitting glass, a further shock. They
were both thrown off their feet. The light was suddenly extinguished.
With the crashing of glass, the splitting of timber--a hideous,
tearing sound--the wrecked saloon, dragging the engine half-way
over with it, slipped down a low embankment and lay on its side,
what remained of it, in a field of turnips.




CHAPTER III

As the young man staggered to his feet, he had somehow a sense of
detachment, as though he were commencing a new life, or had suddenly
come into a new existence. Yet his immediate surroundings were
charged with ugly reminiscences. Through a great gap in the ruined
side of the saloon the rain was tearing in. As he stood up, his
head caught the fragments of the roof. He was able to push back
the wreckage with ease and step out. For a moment he reeled, as he
met the violence of the storm. Then, clutching hold of the side of
the wreck, he steadied himself. A light was moving back and forth,
close at hand. He cried out weakly: "Hullo!"

A man carrying a lantern, bent double as he made his way against the
wind, crawled up to them. He was a porter from the station close
at hand.

"My God!" he exclaimed. "Any one alive here?"