Not threatened alone, alas! For even as they were struggling towards the sweet beguiling light a faint puff of smoke floated idly in about them; and the first to notice it—not with loud outcry but with hushed gasp of terror—was one unhappy man whom the most desperate efforts had failed to free from the wreckage. But as the car gradually filled with the smoke, and as, a little later, a distant crackling could be heard, the stifled moan became a cry, and the cry at length a shrieking appeal for deliverance from the living death that kept ever creeping nearer.
"My God," he cried frantically, "you can't leave me here—I'll burn to death," his eyes shining with a strange unearthly light; "I'll burn to death," he repeated in grim simplicity.
Harvey never left him till the all-conquering flame had all but kindled his own garments; half-blind, soaking with perspiration, gasping for breath, he at last turned his back upon the awful scene and staggered away. The waters of death were now surging about the man—if the unfitting metaphor may be allowed. As he groped his way towards the brow of the up-torn declivity, Harvey stumbled on the silent form of the man who had sat beside him in the coach—a brakeman was hurrying towards it with a sheet. Then dense darkness flowed about, and kind unconsciousness delivered him.
* * * * * *
"You've made as good progress as any man could look for," the doctor said; "don't you think so, Mr. Nickle? He's been lucky all through, to my mind; two broken ribs, and a twisted elbow, was getting off pretty well—considering what he came through. Another week will do wonders."
"It's bad eneuch," rejoined the cautious Scotchman; "but it micht hae been waur."
"Well, old chap, I guess I'll have to go," the doctor said as he began putting on his gloves; "just have patience and you'll be all right. What you'll feel most will be the result of the shock—don't get discouraged if you sag sometimes, and feel as if the bottom were falling out of everything. You'll likely have queer spells of depression—all that sort of thing, you know. 'Twouldn't be a bad idea to take a little spirits when you feel one coming on; and if a little doesn't help, take a little more," he concluded, laughing.
Mrs. Simmons' face was white and drawn; but she controlled herself, and no word escaped her lips. When the doctor left the room she followed him, closing the door behind her. A few minutes later he returned:
"Oh, I've just been thinking over that matter, Harvey," he began carelessly, "and I believe this prescription would be a fully better stimulant," producing pencil and pad and beginning to write.
He remarked how Harvey received the advice—the latter's lips were pale, and the doctor could see them quivering. "Don't fool with the other at all," he added impressively: "I don't believe it would do you a bit of good."