Whats Bred In The Bone | Page 5

sincerely
regret if I've unwittingly done anything to annoy you in any way. The
fact is, the talk carried me away. It was art that misled me. I didn't
mean, I'm sure, to obtrude myself upon you."
And even as he spoke they whisked, unawares, into the darkness of a
tunnel.

CHAPTER II.

TWO'S COMPANY.

Elma was just engaged in debating with herself internally how a young
lady of perfect manners and impeccable breeding, travelling without a
chaperon, ought to behave under such trying circumstances, after
having allowed herself to be drawn unawares into familiar conversation
with a most attractive young artist, when all of a sudden a rapid jerk of
the carriage succeeded in extricating her perforce, and against her will,
from this awkward dilemma. Something sharp pulled up their train
unexpectedly. She was aware of a loud noise and a crash in front,
almost instantaneously followed by a thrilling jar--a low dull thud--a
sound of broken glass--a quick blank stoppage. Next instant she found
herself flung wildly forward into her neighbour's arms, while the artist,
for his part, with outstretched hands, was vainly endeavouring to break
the force of the fall for her.
All she knew for the first few minutes was merely that there had been
an accident to the train, and they were standing still now in the
darkness of the tunnel.
For some seconds she paused, and gasped hard for breath, and tried in
vain to recall her scattered senses. Then slowly she sank back on the
seat once more, vaguely conscious that something terrible had
happened to the train, but that neither she nor her companion were
seriously injured.
As she sank back in her place, Cyril Waring bent forward towards her
with sympathetic kindliness.
"You're not hurt, I hope," he said, holding out one hand to help her rise.
"Stand up for a minute, and see if you're anything worse than severely
shaken. No? That's right, then! That's well, as far as it goes. But I'm
afraid the nervous shock must have been very rough on you."
Elma stood tip, with tears gathering fast in her eyes. She'd have given
the world to be able to cry now, for the jar had half stunned her and
shaken her brain; but before the artist's face she was ashamed to give
free play to her feelings. So she only answered, in a careless sort of
tone--
"Oh, it's nothing much, I think. My head feels rather queer; but I've no
bones broken. A collision, I suppose. Oughtn't we to get out at once and

see what's happened to the other people?"
Cyril Waring moved hastily to the door, and, letting down the window,
tried with a violent effort to turn the handle from the outside. But the
door wouldn't open. As often happens in such accidents, the jar had
jammed it. He tried the other side, and with some difficulty at last
succeeded in forcing it open. Then he descended cautiously on to the
six-foot-way, and held out his hand to help Elma from the carriage.
It was no collision, he saw at once, but a far more curious and unusual
accident.
Looking ahead through the tunnel, all was black as night. A dense wall
of earth seemed to block and fill in the whole space in front of them.
Part of one broken and shattered carriage lay tossed about in wild
confusion on the ground close by. Their own had escaped. All the rest
was darkness.
In a moment, Cyril rightly divined what must have happened to the
train. The roof of the tunnel had caved in on top of it. At least one
carriage--the one immediately in front of them--had been crushed and
shattered by the force of its fall. Their own was the last, and it had been
saved as if by a miracle. It lay just outside the scene of the subsidence.
One thought rose instinctively at once in the young man's mind. They
must first see if any one was injured in the other compartments, or
among the débris of the broken carriage; and then they must make for
the open mouth of the tunnel, through which the light of day still
gleamed bright behind them.
He peered in hastily at the other three windows. Not a soul in any one
of the remaining compartments! It was a very empty train, he had
noticed himself, when he had got in at Tilgate; the one solitary
occupant of the front compartment of their carriage, a fat old lady with
a big black bag, had bundled out at Chetwood. They were alone in the
tunnel--at this end of the train at least; their sole duty now was to make
haste and save themselves.
He gazed overhead. The tunnel was bricked in with