“Is he dead?”
“I hope not.”
“Speak out,—or I shall go mad! Is he dead?”
“Calm yourself, Salome, and let us hope for the best. We know nothing of the particulars of this dreadful disaster, and have learned the names of none of the sufferers. I have little doubt that Dr. Grey was on the train, but there is no certainty that he was injured. The regular up-train could not leave as usual, because the track was badly torn up; but a locomotive and three cars ran out a while ago with several surgeons and articles required for the victims. Pray sit down, my poor child, for you are unable to stand.”
“Where did it happen?”
“Near Silver Run water-tank,—about forty miles from here. The accident occurred at twelve o’clock.”
Salome’s grasp suddenly relaxed, and, tossing her hands above her head, she laughed hysterically,—
“Ha, ha! Thank God, he is not dead! He is only hurt,—only bleeding. Miss Jane saw it all, and he is not dead, or she would have known it. Thank God!”
Dr. Sheldon was a stern man and renowned for his iron nerves, but he shuddered as he looked at the pinched, wan face, and heard the unnatural, hollow sound of her unsteady voice. Had care, watching, and suspense unpoised her reason?
Something of that which passed through his mind looked out of his eyes, and interpreting their amazed expression, the girl waved her hand towards the door, and added,—