A crowded town behind him, the loneliness he looked upon was a pleasure to him. Compelled to spend time in it, without the sense of being on the way out of it, his own company would soon have grown irksome to him; for however much men may be interested in themselves, there are few indeed who are interesting to themselves. Those only whose self is aware of a higher presence can escape becoming bores and disgusts to themselves. That every man is endlessly greater than what he calls himself, must seem a paradox to the ignorant and dull, but a universe would be impossible without it. George had not arrived at the discovery of this fact, and yet was for the present contented both with himself and with his circumstances. The heather was not in bloom, and the few flowers of the heathy land made no show. Brown and darker brown predominated, with here and there a shadow of green; and, weary of his outlook, George was settling back to his book, when there came a great bang and a tearing sound. He started to his feet, and for hours knew nothing more. A truck had run off the line and turned over; the carriage in which he was had followed it, and one of the young man's legs was broken. CHAPTER III. HELP. “Papa! papa! there is an accident on the line!” cried Miss Fordyce, running into her father's study, where he sat surrounded with books. “I saw it from the door!” “Hush!” returned the old man, and listened. “I hear the train going on,” he said, after a moment. “Part of it is come to grief, I am certain,” answered his daughter. “I saw something fall.” “Well, my dear?” “What _shall_ we do?” “What would you have us do?” rejoined her father, without a movement toward rising. “It is too far off for us to be of any use.” “We ought to go and see.” “I am not fond of such seeing, Alexa, and will not go out of my way for it. The misery I can not avoid is enough for me.” But Alexa was out of the room, and in a moment more was running, in as straight a line as she could keep, across the heath to the low embankment. Andrew caught sight of her running. He could not see the line, but convinced that something was the matter, turned and ran in the same direction. It was a hard and long run for Alexa, over such ground. Troubled at her father's indifference, she ran the faster--too fast for thinking, but not too fast for the thoughts that came of themselves. What had come to her father? Their house was the nearest! She could not shut out the conviction that, since succeeding to the property, he had been growing less and less neighborly. She had caught up a bottle of brandy, which impeded her running. Yet she made good speed, her dress gathered high in the other hand. Her long dark hair broken loose and flying in the wind, her assumed dignity forgotten, and only the woman awake, she ran like a deer over the heather, and in little more than a quarter of an hour, though it was a long moor-mile, reached the embankment, flushed and panting.