The two men looked at each other for a moment. Sir John's face wore a tense expression--a kind of galvanised smile. Mr. Molesworth closed his eyes, instinctively concealing his sudden sickening terror of what an accident just there must mean: and for a second or so he actually had a sensation of dropping into space. He remembered having felt something like it in dreams three or four times in his life: and at the same instant he remembered a country superstition gravely imparted to him in childhood by his old nurse, that if you dreamt of falling and didn't wake up before reaching the bottom, you would surely die. The absurdity of it chased away his terror, and he opened his eyes and looked about him with a short laugh. . . . The train still jolted heavily, but had begun to slow down, and Mr. Molesworth drew a long breath as a glance told him that they were past the viaduct. Sir John had risen, and was leaning out of the farther window. Something had gone amiss, then. But what? He put the question aloud. Sir John, his head and shoulders well outside the carriage-window, did not answer. Probably he did not hear. As the train ran into M---- Station and came to a standstill, Mr. Molesworth caught a glimpse of the station-master, in his gold-braided cap, by the door of the booking-office. He wore a grave, almost a scared look. The three or four country-people on the sunny platform seemed to have their gaze drawn by the engine, and somebody ahead there was shouting. Sir John Crang, without a backward look, flung the door open and stepped out. Mr. Molesworth was preparing to follow--and by the cramped feeling in his fingers was aware at the same instant that he had been gripping the arm-rest almost desperately--when the guard of the train came running by and paused to thrust his head in at the open doorway to explain. "Engine's broken her coupling-rod, sir--just before we came to the viaduct. Mercy for us she didn't leave the rails." "Mercy indeed, as you say," Mr. Molesworth assented. "I suppose we shall be hung up here until they send a relief down?" The guard--Mr. Molesworth knew him as 'George' by name, and by habit constantly polite--turned and waved his flag hurriedly, in acknowledgment of the shouting ahead, before answering-- "You may count on half an hour's delay, sir. Lucky it's no worse. You'll excuse me--they're calling for me down yonder." He ran on, and Mr. Molesworth stepped out upon the platform, of which this end was already deserted, all the passengers having alighted and hurried forward to inspect the damaged engine. A few paces beyond the door he met the station-master racing back to despatch a telegram. "It seems that we've had a narrow escape," said Mr. Molesworth. The station-master touched his hat and plunged into his office. Mr. Molesworth, instead of joining the crowd around the engine, halted before a small pile of luggage on a bench outside the waiting-room and absent-mindedly scanned the labels.