noise and a crash in front, almost instantaneously followed by a
thrilling jar--a low dull thud--a sound of broken glass--a quick
blank stoppage. Next instant she found herself flung wildly forward
into her neighbour's arms, while the artist, for his part, with
outstretched hands, was vainly endeavouring to break the force of
the fall for her.

All she knew for the first few minutes was merely that there had
been an accident to the train, and they were standing still now in
the darkness of the tunnel.

For some seconds she paused, and gasped hard for breath, and tried
in vain to recall her scattered senses. Then slowly she sank back
on the seat once more, vaguely conscious that something terrible
had happened to the train, but that neither she nor her companion
were seriously injured.

As she sank back in her place, Cyril Waring bent forward towards
her with sympathetic kindliness.

"You're not hurt, I hope," he said, holding out one hand to help
her rise. "Stand up for a minute, and see if you're anything worse
than severely shaken. No? That's right, then! That's well, as far
as it goes. But I'm afraid the nervous shock must have been very
rough on you."

Elma stood tip, with tears gathering fast in her eyes. She'd have
given the world to be able to cry now, for the jar had half stunned
her and shaken her brain; but before the artist's face she was
ashamed to give free play to her feelings. So she only answered,