“My God, will no one come!”
“Hoffman, are you there?” cried Helen, groping in the gloom, with a thrill of joy at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Thank heaven, you are safe. Lie still. I will save you. Help is coming. Have no fear!” panted the voice, with an undertone of fervent gratitude in its breathless accents.
“What has happened? Where are the rest?”
“We have been thrown down an embankment. The lads are gone for help. God only knows what harm is done.”
Karl’s voice died in a stifled groan, and Helen cried out in alarm,—
“Where are you? You are hurt?”
“Not much. I keep the ruins from falling in to crush us. Be quiet, they are coming.”
A shout answered the faint halloo he gave as if to guide them to the spot, and a moment after, five of the students were swarming about the wreck, intent on saving the three whose lives were still in danger.
A lamp torn from some demolished carriage was held through an opening, and Helen saw a sight that made her blood chill in her veins. Across her feet, crushed and bleeding, lay the youngest of the students, and kneeling close beside him was Hoffman, supporting by main strength a mass of timber, which otherwise would fall and crush them all. His face was ghastly pale, his eyes haggard with suffering and suspense, and great drops stood upon his forehead. But as she looked, he smiled with a cheery,—