But now there appeared a waiter with a tray on which was some breakfast, and the conversation stopped. Ten minutes later, Gilbert and Hankey were speeding northwards on the Northern Pacific to the scene of the collision, where they arrived in due course. On the way up, every one was talking of the appalling disaster. Many in the train were relatives of the victims, and the whole atmosphere was charged with grief and sorrow. Gilbert Eversleigh was too young and too sensitive not to sympathize with and share these feelings. They made such an impression on him that the vengeance he cherished, and the hatred he felt for Silwood were decidedly modified, though he was scarcely aware of it himself. The express stopped some fifty yards away from the spot where the collision had taken place. When Gilbert and the detective alighted, they saw an enormous crowd had already gathered together, large numbers having flocked in from the surrounding country. For the most part, it was a quiet and silent crowd. The Shadow of Death lay heavy upon it; here and there, however, were little groups weeping and sobbing and wringing their hands. In the midst of one stood a woman, suddenly crazed, who alternately screamed and laughed. The scene was such, the circumstances were such, that they could not fail to make an ineffaceable impression on Gilbert's mind. It was an unparalleled scene of destruction. In the centre was the wreck of the two trains lying on the torn and twisted rails. The engines were piled high in the middle, with their colossal frames seamed, cracked, broken, burnt, and bent into queer shapes. Some of the coaches and carriages of the ill-fated express had been smashed into matchwood, others lay about in large pieces and dislocated sections, and the whole formed a confusion of wood, glass, and other materials, rendered more terrible from the fact that fire had swept its destroying torch over a large part of it. And it was whispered there were bodies, or what had once been bodies, lying somewhere in that chaos! Gangs of railroad men were struggling to bring some sort of order into it, but their progress was necessarily slow. Now and again a charred and blackened object, which had lost all semblance to anything human, was dug up and carried away. On one side of the wreck two large tents had been erected: one was used as a mortuary, to which the dead were carried; the other served as a hospital for the injured and wounded, where they were tended by doctors from the vicinity, who had volunteered their services. It was to the hospital tent that Gilbert and Hankey directed their steps, but they experienced considerable difficulty in gaining admission. However, at last they were allowed in, and a doctor, of whom they inquired, told them James Russell was still alive, was indeed likely to live for two days or perhaps longer, but that the nature of the injuries he had received made his recovery impossible. He was quite conscious, and knew he was dying.