It was safely closed. "Tell me the worst; and don't speak
loud. There has been an accident. Where?"
"On the railway. Close to Grailsea Station."
"The up-train to London?"
"No: the down-train at one-fifty--"
"God Almighty help us! The train Mr. Vanstone traveled by to Grailsea?"
"The same. I was sent here by the up-train; the line was just cleared in
time for it. They wouldn't write--they said I must see 'Miss Garth,' and
tell her. There are seven passengers badly hurt; and two--"
The next word failed on his lips; he raised his hand in the dead
silence. With eyes that opened wide in horror, he raised his hand and
pointed over Miss Garth's shoulder.
She turned a little, and looked back.
Face to face with her, on the threshold of the study door, stood
the mistress of the house. She held her old music-book clutched fast
mechanically in both hands. She stood, the specter of herself. With a
dreadful vacancy in her eyes, with a dreadful stillness in her voice,
she repeated the man's last words:
"Seven passengers badly hurt; and two--"
Her tortured fingers relaxed their hold; the book dropped from them; she
sank forward heavily. Miss Garth caught her before she fell--caught her,
and turned upon the man, with the wife's swooning body in her arms, to
hear the husband's fate.
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