Here and there a figure half raised itself and sank to the ground again with rolling head and helplessly outstretched hands. Detached pieces of wheels, and windows and twisted frames, and shattered roofs strewed the line. A first-class carriage lay upside down, its wheels idly revolving in the air, and a mass of golden curls were clustered on the broken frame of one of the windows. "Force open the door if you can; that lady is crushing to death," said the young woman kneeling by the golden mass and raising a heavy head, which they shrouded. The man found a beam and began methodically to batter in the door. It was done, the strange jumble of crushed and sleeping humanity were unlocked from their prison, and the two succorers made their way in, treading warily upon the gayly-painted ceiling, and both bent over a figure clad in silken draperies of diaphanous sheen. "Lift that crushing head gently. Ah, it must be too late. There, there she is free. Put her head upon my shoulder--so. Now I will carry her myself; clear a way for me that I may not trip and fall with her. Spread that cloak upon the grass--so. Ah, is she dead?" The Samaritan under orders assisted to lay the burden down, and then ran for some water, with which he quickly returned, and began to sprinkle copiously the insensible lady. The young naval officer, who looked rather ghastly, now approached Margaret. He knelt down and gazed with horror upon her set face. "Good gracious! I am afraid she's gone, poor girl," he ejaculated. "Julie--Cousin Julie! Do you think she is dead, madam? Oh, Julie, dear, speak to me!" "She is not dead," answered Margaret. "If we could have her removed to some house, there might be some help for her." "A poor man's hut ain't for such as her," said the bricklayer, drawing his hand over his heated face; "but she's welcome to the best bed in it." "Thank you. We shall convey her there at once," replied the young man. They constructed a hasty litter of branches, and, calling a brawny-armed boy, Doane set off with his burden. In a few minutes they reached the bricklayer's cottage, and a clean bed was hastily prepared for the victim of the disaster. The young gentleman waited in the little kitchen until Margaret could give him a report of the lady's state. In a very short space of time she joined him. "Lady Juliana is still insensible. I fear her injuries are dangerous, but I can only use my best skill until some physician comes," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. "I will send the best one I can find from Lynthorpe, and telegraph immediately to the Marquis of Ducie. He could reach us to-night, I think. May I ask the name of the lady under whose kind charge I leave Lady Julie?" Margaret crimsoned, and drew back. Until then it had not struck her that she would stand a better chance of getting rid of the old life by taking an assumed name. "Margaret Blair," she faltered, at random. "Miss Blair?" She bowed.