... The engine was coming. He could hear it snorting and rattling in the distance. He simply daren't listen. He tried to imagine he was already dead. But a frightful crash suddenly broke in upon his brain, and then another, and then another ... he had never realized how much it took to... "Fog signals," said the voice. "Keep just as you are ... eyes shut ... quite still ... quite still." There it was, grunting and rattling.... Know nothink! ... there ... now... Grunting, rattling, snorting, what a time it took! In spite of himself he opened his eyes, and found that he was still alive. "You were on the wrong line after all." The sound of the voice turned him faint. IV There was only one thing to be done now, and this he did without delay. He took his head from the metals and stood up as well as he could. His body was all numb and lifeless, but there was a queer excitement in him somewhere that for the moment made him feel almost happy. After all, he wasn't dead. And in that strange moment that was like a dream he was almost glad he wasn't. Yes, almost glad. It was hard to believe that he should wish to find himself alive, and yet as he stretched his limbs and began to move he couldn't honestly say that after all he wasn't just a little bit pleased. He was not able to move very fast; he was so dreadfully cold for one thing, and then his left foot was hurt. But now, as he walked along the six-foot way, he felt somehow stronger than he had ever felt in his life before. Of a sudden he crossed the metals and plunged recklessly sideways into the fog. He stumbled over some signal wires and fell on his knees, got up and stumbled over some more. What did it matter? What did anything matter? After all, it was quite easy to die. He must find the right line and make a job of it. He stopped a moment, and turned this thought over in his mind. And then he heard the voice again. "_Henry Harper, you'll never be able to do that again as long as you live._"