not passed the semaphore she might yet be stopped.  The semaphore was nearly a quarter of a mile from the station, and the arm was down.  If the engine had passed it by a hair’s breadth, ninety-nine chances out of a hundred the engineer would go on.  If I could let up the arm before the engine reached it, all might be well.  My main hope was in the icy condition of the track; I knew it would take her much longer than usual to get under way on such rails.

“As Herbert dashed out of the station I was not two feet behind him.  With naked head, and hands outstretched toward the rapidly departing train, and still uttering impotent cries, ran the demented fellow, his reason for the time being entirely gone.  The rampant wind blew the half-frozen rain in my face with such force that I could scarcely breathe, while my eyes smarted so under the onslaught that I could see only with great difficulty.  With what wonderful velocity the mind works in moments of great danger!  Even before I had left the station, my alert brain had weighed and reweighed the chances of the plans it had with such marvellous rapidity given birth to.  As I ran, the quick panting of the locomotive was borne to my strained ears with great distinctness by the hurrying wind.  The ear is easily deceived as to sounds; whether the train was fifty yards or half a mile away I could not tell.  A few more steps and the lever that worked the semaphore was in my hands.  I quickly released the wire which held down the distant semaphore arm.  Just as I did so I saw Herbert jump from the platform on to the track, along which he ran, still calling in piteous tones for the express to stop.

“Then followed an experience so fearful that I wonder my mind, too, did not lose its balance.  Regardless of wind and rain I stood clutching the lever, waiting for the engine to whistle the station to lower the arm.  If no whistle came, I was too late!  My very heart seemed to stop and listen, while my nerves seemed as if they must surely snap, so overwrought were they.  To my excited imagination every second seemed an hour.  Still the dreadful suspense went on, while the panting of the engine grew quicker and quicker.  The suspense was actually too great to bear, and I weakly sank on to the platform.  A moment later there came floating a sound sweeter to my ears than the triumphant song of the nightingale; yet it was only the deep discordant whistle of the fleeing locomotive calling for the semaphore arm to be lowered.

“Saved!  I sprang to my feet, sobbing like a child.  As I turned to go back to the station, a startling apparition met my eyes; standing ten paces from me and waving a red lamp was Julia.  Her white clothing and the fitful glare of the red light made her look like something supernatural.  The fierce wind tossed the hair in sweet disorder about her refined delicate face, while the cold rain made the clothing cling to her slender figure like a shroud.  ‘Julia!’ I exclaimed aghast, advancing toward her with faltering