With the speed of the special train the excitement seemed to increase;
but, for a time, Tom's attention was taken up by the stations they
passed, and he tried hard to recall their names, referring at the same
moment that they passed through to his watch, so as to endeavour to
calculate the speed at which they ran.
But soon they were going so fast that he ceased to hold his watch up to
the thick glass lamp in the roof, and he missed count of the places,
unable to tell one from the other, seeing merely a streak of light
directly after the warning shriek of the engine had told of their
coming. And now, as he threw himself back and began to think once more
of his trouble, the roar and beat of the engine resolved itself into the
words that had troubled him before; and, with feelings of anguish that
he could not express, he sat listening to the reiteration--"In the midst
of life we are in death,"--"In the midst of life we are in death!"--and,
with a groan of anguish, he bent down and wept like a child.
But for the relief those tears afforded his throbbing brain, he would
soon have been suffering from fever. The relief was but short, though,
and he rose to gaze out of the window at the thick gloom. Then,
removing his hat, he lowered the glass and leaned out, letting the cold
night air blow upon his heated face as the train rushed on.
All was black darkness, save the glow shed by the rushing train; and he
could make out nothing but that they were dashing on at a frightful
pace, seeming to tear up the very earth as they thundered along. Once
or twice speed was slackened, with the engine whistle sounding loudly;
and, looking out, he could see far ahead a red point of light, which, as
they neared it, changed into a green, when, with a triumphant shriek,
the special glided on once more, and they swept by a station and a
hissing engine attached to some long goods train, whose guard stood by
with a lantern in his hand, fresh from the operation of shunting to
allow them to pass.
"Faster, faster!" Tom began repeating to himself, as, in spite of his
efforts to master the fancy, he kept hearing the words into which the
noise of the train resolved itself; though, as he leaned out again, he
felt a sensation of joy, for he was being borne nearer and nearer to
where his darling lay.
Then he would walk to and fro in the narrow space that formed the saloon
carriage, the difficulty of preserving his balance taking up some of his
attention, and relieving his mind from its dreadful strain. But it
always came back to his throwing himself back on a seat, to listen to
those dreadful words; and at such times he was for ever seeing the open
grave and the funeral procession, and in a despair that was almost
maddening he, told himself that by his folly he had dashed away the cup
of happiness from his lips, and that if Jessie died he would be little
better than a murderer.
"My poor darling! my poor darling!" he moaned; and then her sweet,
pensive eyes seemed to look up in his, and he was once again with her in
the days of their early love, "And are those times never to come back
again?" he asked aloud; to get back for answer the constant dull
repetition, "In the midst of life we are in death,"--"In the midst of
life we are in death," till he groaned in the anguish of his heart.
Onward still, with a rush and a roar, through tunnels, with a quick,
sharp crash as if wood and brickwork had come into contact; and then on
again. Over bridges, with a strange quivering vibration, and a dull
metallic roar, and on again through the black darkness, till the engine
began to shriek once more, the speed slackened, grew slower and slower,
and ended by the little train pulling up alongside a platform.
The guard was at the door as Tom let down the window, and met his
question with--
"Tunbridge, sir. Take in water. Engine's been detached. Back
directly."
"Don't lose a moment."
"No, sir. Like to get out, sir?"
"No."
Tom threw himself back in his seat, and waited impatiently what seemed
an hour, but was really only five minutes; when, just as he was rising
to thrust his head out of the window, there was a slight concussion, the
rattle of chains, and he knew the engine was once more attached.
"Right away!" A whistle from the guard, an answering shriek from the
engine, and they glided along the platform, while the night porter on
duty looked curiously at the carriage where the young man sat, after
giving the signal to start; and in a few minutes, always gathering
speed, away they went once more, faster and faster, into the darkness of
the night.
It was refreshing to feel the wind blowing against his cheeks, even
though at times he could hardly get his breath; but as he gazed forward
it was almost with a feeling of wonder that they had had no accident, so
black was all ahead.
From time to time a goods train dashed by them in the opposite
direction, while as often they rushed by carriages which stood in
sidings until those on their urgent way had passed. At last, after
trying all he could to contain himself, and grow calm and fit to see the
poor sufferer whom he feared to encounter, he sat in despair listening
to the dreadful fancied utterances of the train.
With a prayer on his lips that it might not be too late, he lowered the
window on the other side, and gazed out through the darkness in the
direction that he believed to be the one where Jessie lay. "We must be
near now," he felt; and he began to look out eagerly for the town, which
once reached, his journey would soon be ended.
They seemed to be going at a tremendous speed; and, once more returning
to his seat, he was in the act of taking out his watch, when the whistle
began to pierce the black night air; and directly after, there was a
sharp crash, a stunning blow, the end of the saloon carriage seemed to
come suddenly upon him, and he knew no more.
Tom's next recollection was of feeling drowsy, and being troubled by
some one holding a lantern close to his face. There was a buzzing of
voices about him, and, close by, the glare of a fire, which flared and
crackled loudly. Men were moving about, and they would not leave him
alone, so it seemed to him; ending by lifting him up and placing him
carefully upon cushions, which cushions they had laid upon a gate; and
then he was carried some distance to a well-lighted room, where he
seemed to go to sleep.
He must have lain some hours quite insensible, for it was broad daylight
when he came thoroughly to himself, and found he was upon a mattress in
the waiting-room of a station.
"Where am I?" he said wonderingly, for it seemed that the troubled
journey must have been all a dream.
"At Broxton," was the reply; and a gentleman, whom he immediately set
down to be a doctor, came forward.
"But how--what is it? I remember now!" he exclaimed, with a dull,
aching pain in his head and arm--"there was an accident to the train."
"Yes," was the reply. "A couple of goods trucks that were being shunted
ran back down the incline, met the special train you were in, and
wrecked it. You had a narrow escape, sir."
"The driver--stoker--guard?" he said eagerly.
"A bit cut and shaken; but you are the great sufferer." Tom lay still
for a few minutes, trying to collect himself; and then all came clear
once more.
"I see," he cried. "Left arm broken--head contused--cut or two. Much
loss of blood, doctor?"
"Not much," he said. "A fortnight's quiet. Well, I think--My dear sir,
are you mad?"
"I hope not," said the injured man, sitting up. "There, don't touch me,
doctor. I can judge by my feelings that my case is not serious. When
is the next down train?"
"In half an hour, sir," said a fresh voice, and a man he had not seen
came from behind the extemporised couch.
"Here, help me to put on my coat and waistcoat. Doctor, I'm much
obliged for what you've done; but I was travelling special to a case of
emergency. I must go on, if it kills me."
"I will not be answerable for the consequences if you do," the doctor
said tartly. "Fever is almost certain to supervene if you exert
yourself, and then I would not give _that_ for your life."
_That_ was a snap of the fingers, evidently given to get rid of some
snuff.
"Make me a sling for this arm," said Tom; and one being extemporised
with a handkerchief, he had to fight hard to master the faintness that
kept attacking him; but he persevered--had the bandages on his head
replaced by strapping where his hair had been cut away on account of a
couple of ghastly cuts; and finally had himself led to the platform,
where he sat down waiting.
Twice over the doctor tried to persuade him not to go; but he felt that
he must, even at the risk of life; and at last, on the morning train
coming up, he stepped in, feeling deathly sick and faint, and leaning
back, reached Hastings at last, hardly able to crawl.
It was with a sense of dizziness that he could hardly counteract that he
reached Richard Shingle's house; and then once more he appeared to sink
into a dreamy state, in which he was always hearing the words--"In the
midst of life we are in death," and then came a long blank.