Reassured upon the score of Lady Oswald, Oswald quitted Mark, and went amidst the wounded. Proud man though he was accused of being, though he _was_, never was there a tenderer heart, a softer hand, a gentler voice for the sick and suffering, than his. All the patients appeared to have been attended to in some degree; and they were in good hands now. Oswald halted by the side of the poor stoker, a swarthy honest-faced man, who was moaning out his pain. "What, is it you, Bigg?" he said, recognising the man. "I did not know you were back on this part of the line again." "I on'y come on it yesterday, sir. It's just my luck." "Where are you hurt?" "I be scalded awful, sir. I never knew what pain was afore tonight. All my lower limbs is"-- "Take care?" shouted Oswald to a stupid fellow who was running along with a plank in his arms. "Can't you see there's a man lying here? What are you about?" "About my work," was the rough reply, spoken in an insolent tone. It was one of the men just brought down, a workman from Hallingham station, and Oswald knew him well. "What is that, Wells?" he quietly asked. Wells looked round now, surprised at being addressed by name. He pretty nearly dropped his load in consternation when he recognised Mr. Oswald Cray. Full as his hands were, he managed to jerk his hat from his head. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure, sir. I thought it was nothing but some idler obstricting of me. One does get beset with idlers at these times, asking one all sorts of questions. I shouldn't have answered that way, sir, if I'd knowed it was you." "Go on with your work; there's no time to talk. And don't blunder along again without looking where you are going." "One can't see well in the dark, sir." "It's not dark; it is as light as it need be. Quite light enough for you to see your way. Do you call that bright moon nothing?" "He'd ha' been right over my legs, but for you, sir," murmured poor Bigg, the great drops of pain standing out on his brow, black with his occupation. "I don't know how I be to bear this agony. That cursed engine"---- "Hush, Bigg," interrupted Mr. Oswald Cray. Bigg groaned his contrition. "Heaven forgive me! I know it ain't a right word for me tonight." "Heaven will help you to bear the pain if you will only let it," said Oswald. "There has been worse pain to bear than even yours, my poor fellow; though I know how hard it is for you now to think so." "It may be my death-blow, sir. And what's to become o' my wife and little uns? Who'll work for 'em?" "No, no, Bigg. I hope it is not so bad as that. I do not think it is." "If one might count by pain, sir"----