And at once he discerned, on the other side of the railway line, two figures engaged not merely in the wordy conflict which had already come to his ears, but in an actual physical struggle, the girl clinging, dragging; the man trying to push her off. Bram’s heart seemed to stand still. For, with a thrill of horror, he saw that a train had suddenly come out from under the bridge on his left, and was rapidly approaching the spot where the two struggling, swaying figures stood. He shouted, and dashed forward across the broad network of lines. Caution was always necessary when these were crossed, but he did not look either to the right or to the left; he could see only those struggling figures and the train bearing down upon them. But his effort was made in vain. Before he could reach them the train had overtaken them, there was a wild, horrible shriek, and then a deep groan. Bram stood back shaking in every limb, until the train had passed by. Then, sick, blinded, he stared down at the line with a terrible sound in his ears. On the ground before him lay a bleeding, mangled heap, writhing in agony, uttering the horrible groans and sobs of a man dying in fearful pain. It was Christian Cornthwaite. CHAPTER XXI. THE FIRE GOES OUT. A great sob burst from Bram’s lips as he threw himself down beside Christian, whose moans were terrible to hear. He had been caught by the train, the wheels of the engine having passed over both his legs, crushing and mangling them in the most horrible manner. Bram saw at a glance that there was not the slightest hope of saving his friend’s life, and that there was only the faintest chance of prolonging it for a little while. Fortunately, help was at hand. A man, one of the hands employed at the works, ran out from the sheds which bordered the railway. He was in a panic of terror, and was at first almost incapable of listening to the directions Bram gave him. Such first aid as it was possible to give Bram was already giving. But Christian himself shook his head feebly, and made a faint gesture to stop him. “It’s all of no use, Bram,” said he, in a broken voice. “She’s done for me; she’s had her revenge now. You may just as well leave me alone, and then the next passing train will put me out of my pain. Oh, I would be thankful--thankful----” Another moan broke from his lips, and his head, which was wet with great beads of agony, fell like lead in Bram’s arms. “Come, come, we can’t leave you lying here,” said Bram, in a deep, vibrating voice, as he hugged the dying head to his breast.