Arrived upon a level, our momentum gradually expended itself. From an estimated ten-mile rate—which had seemed terrific—we slowed to a five, to a three, to a one, to a snail's pace, and then something occurred which, although not threatening any danger to us personally, filled our minds with the liveliest anxiety for the safety of others. Antaeus came to a stand-still just across the railway track.
“Well?” said my passenger, inquiringly.
“Well,” I returned, blankly, as I pulled my watch from my pocket, “this is—interesting, to say the least.”
“Are there—how about trains?” she queried anxiously.
During the jolting of our forced—and forcible—descent our lantern had gone out; but there was an electric lamp near, and by its light I managed to read the hour upon my watch-dial.
“There is a train leaving the city at ten, due here at ten-seventeen; it now lacks five minutes of that. I must go to the station and report that the way is blocked. I am sorry to leave you—or would you prefer going while I wait here?”
“I think it will be better for you to go.”
“Very well, then; I'll not be long.”
