“What the devil is that?  A collision, by thunder!” exclaimed he, as he picked himself up from the opposite seat on which he had been thrown by the violence of the shock.  The door, fortunately, had been forced open by the concussion.  Our two travellers jumped out on to the track.  Here a scene of confusion met their view.  They had run into a freight train which was coming from an opposite direction.  Women and children were shrieking for help, mingled with the cries of those injured, with the loud shouts and vociferations of the employees, and those engaged in clearing the wreck and getting things into trim again; although a number were hurt, some slightly, others more seriously, there were none reported actually killed; and a great number of the passengers were more frightened than hurt.

“This way,” said an official to some four or five men, who were carrying a gentleman that appeared to be more seriously injured than any of the rest.  “Lay him down softly on that grassy bank;” then raising his voice called out, “Is there any medhal man at hand?”

“Here, Draycott, although on leave you must come to the rescue.  Horrid bore to be thus detained, is it not,” said Arthur, as they hastened to the spot.

“Fall back there, men, fall back; give the gentleman more air, and let the doctor pass.”  At the decided and authoritative tone of Carlton’s voice the crowd, who by this time had gathered around the sufferer, gave way.  The surgeon went to work immediately and examined the unfortunate man thoroughly.  “Bad case,” he said in a whisper to Carlton.  “Broken thigh bone, ribs crushed, and something worse internally, I am afraid.”  At this moment Carlton got a good look at the features of the injured man.  “Can it be possible!  Yes, it is Sir Ralph Coleman!” At the mention of his name the Baronet opened his eyes and, for a second or two, looked fully at the speaker, then said with a great effort, for pain had hitherto kept him silent: 

“Yes, Arthur Carlton, it is I. How came you here?  Do not leave me.”  And here Sir Ralph fainted from loss of blood.

“Is there a public house or farm near?” enquired Carlton.

“Yes,” replied one of the bystanders, “there is farmer Wheatley’s just down there in the hollow; they will do what they can for the poor gentleman.”

“I will pay the men well that will carry him there,” said Carlton, addressing a number of farmers’ men, who had by this time come up.  The rank of the injured man, and the offer of payment, had a wonderful effect.  A dozen volunteered, at once.  A gate was taken off its hinges, and some of the cushions of the injured carriage placed upon this litter and, under the direction of Doctor Draycott, Sir Ralph was conveyed to the farm house in the hollow.

“You seemed to be well acquainted with my patient,” said Draycott.

“Oh, yes.  He is Sir Ralph Coleman, of Vellenaux.  He succeeded to the title and estate on the death of Sir Jasper, Miss Effingham’s uncle, by which she was left almost penniless.  You have heard her history, I suppose, in India.  These things always leak out somehow or other in the service.”