“Are we still on that dreadful trestling?” asked Mrs. Walford, with a shudder.
“No, no; we are safely on the track now, and the bridge is behind us. Look down at your feet and see the good honest dirt and stones on which they are resting,” said Bertha, in a cheery tone, forcing herself to make light of what they had gone through, just because the horror of it would have entirely unnerved her if she had let herself dwell upon it.
Mrs. Walford burst into tears of sheer thankfulness, and the men stood round in miserable embarrassment, not liking to disturb her, and yet feeling that something ought to be done.
Then Bertha ventured a remonstrance. “Don’t you think that it is a pity to cry now that all the danger is over? It looks a little ungrateful, too, when these kind people have worked so hard to save us.”
“Of course it is dreadfully silly, and I would not have done it if I had not been all of a twitter with what we have gone through,” said Mrs. Walford, giving herself a shake, and wiping her eyes in token that she was restored to normal. “I am more obliged to everybody than I can say for helping us up from that awful trestling, and no one can guess what we have been through since I fell out of the car.”
“It was falling out of the car that saved your lives, anyhow, so you have reason to be grateful for it,” said her husband; then he hurried them into the tender, the men climbed in after, and the engine started on its way back to Brocken Ridge.
Very little was said on the way there. Neither Mrs. Walford nor Bertha was fit to discuss their adventures; indeed, it took every scrap of endurance that Bertha possessed to sit that dreadful ride out. But there was one thing about which she had to make sure before she allowed herself to be carried off for rest and refreshment at the end of the journey, and that was, she had to know at what time the long train of empty wagons would start back to Rownton, for it would never do for her to be left behind, seeing that it might be two or even three days before another train came through.
“We can’t possibly get off much before midnight, miss, and it may be later than that,” said the brakeman to whom she had put her question. “But we will not forget to call for you, never fear, and you shan’t ride in the last car next time, I will see to that.”
Mike Walford looked at Bertha in surprise, and he wondered more than ever who she was, and why she had come up to Brocken Ridge in a freight car just to return by the same train. It was certainly no pleasure trip under the best of circumstances, and, as things had turned out, it had been an experience of dire peril. But he was so grateful to her for the way in which she had helped his wife, that he felt he must do as much as he possibly could to further whatever business she might have on hand.
“Is there anything that I can do for you, Miss Doyne?” he asked, as he piloted her and his wife across to the hotel.