I DO not know how long I crouched down, huddled together on the ground. It could not have been more than two or three minutes: yet it seemed like an hour to me. Though I stopped both ears, I fancied I heard shrieks: and all at once I could bear the suspense no longer. I felt that I must know the worst. So I stood up without more ado, and walked back as fast as ever I could to the little gate—which was not very fast, for my legs were swaying under me. Though I had run the distance in almost no time, it seemed long as I came back, and I could hardly drag one foot after the other. I was hugging the red shawl tight in my arms still, though I did not know it. There was no mistake about the cries which I had fancied I heard with my ears stopped. At least, that might have been fancy, yet the cries were real; and not only cries, but a buzz and rush of voices within the station, as if a crowd of people were talking and asking questions together. I saw that the train was at a standstill, and the hind carriages stood all right upon the rails, not seeming to be injured. That gave me hope that at all events the collision had not been a bad one. I could not see the engine or the foremost carriages yet. I went straight down through our garden, and into the station from the back. On my way to the platform I took a peep into a little waiting-room, and what I saw stands out always like a picture before me when I think of that day. Mother was there, quiet as usual, and she held in her hand a white handkerchief with red stains. On the floor, lying flat, was a young woman, dressed in black—rather young, that is to say, though not quite a girl, with shut eyes and a white face, and something red spotting her white lips. A young man stood close to mother, tall and dark-haired, and with such a troubled face!—and the surgeon of Claxton neighbourhood, Mr. Baitson, knelt on the other side of the young woman, stooping over her. I could not see what he was doing, and I did not wait to find out. I had a dread of the sight of blood, and I fled away at once to the platform. The bustle and confusion there were more than I know how to describe. Everybody seemed to have leaped out of the train the moment it stopped, and everybody was talking. Some were asking questions, and some were angry, and two or three ladies were half fainting, and one was in a fit of shrieking hysterics, with a lot of folks round her. Perhaps she had been so taken by surprise that she could not control herself; but yet I think she need not have screamed so loud. Nobody noticed me at first, and I stepped into the corner beside the big station-clock, where I stood, quaking still, and glad to lean against the wall.