devoted some
time to soothing the agitated spirits of poor Mrs Durby, whose luckless
shins had not escaped quite scatheless during the _melee_.

"Oh, sir," sobbed Mrs Durby, glancing with horror at the dishevelled
and blood-stained prisoners, "I always thought railways was bad things,
but I never, no I never, imagined they was as bad as this."

"But, my good woman," said Edwin, unable to restrain a smile, "railways
are not all, nor always, as bad as this. We very seldom hear of such a
villainous deed as has been attempted to-day; thanks to the energy and
efficiency of their police establishments."

"Quite true, Gurward, quite true," said Captain Lee, glancing sternly at
the prisoners, and stanching a cut in his forehead with a handkerchief
as he spoke; "our police arrangements are improving daily, as scoundrels
shall find to their cost."

Jenkins and Smith did not raise their eyes, and Thomson continued to
frown steadily out at the window without moving a muscle.

"I'm sure I don't know nothink about your p'lice, an' what's more, I
don't care," said Mrs Durby; "all that I know is that railways is
dreadful things, and if I was the Queen, which I'm not, I'd have 'em all
put down by Acts of Parlingment, so I would. But never, never, never,--
as long as I'm able to manidge my own--ah!"

Mrs Durby terminated here with one of her own appalling shrieks, for it
was at this precise moment that John Marrot happened, as already
described, to have occasion to knock a cart and horse to atoms. The
shock, as we have said, was very slight, nevertheless it was sufficient
to overturn the poor nurse's nervous system, which had already been
wrought up to a high pitch of tension.

"That's _somethin'_ gone, sir," said Sam, touching his cap to Captain
Lee.

"What is it, Edwin?" inquired the captain as the youth let down the
window and looked out.

"I can see nothing," said Edwin, "except that the guard and fireman are
both looking back as if they wanted to see something on the line. We
are beginning to slow, however, being not far from the station now."

About a mile and three-quarters from the station, in the suburbs of
London, where the tickets were to be collected, John Marrot stopped the
pulse of his iron horse, for so terrific was his speed that he was able
to run the greater part of that distance by means of the momentum
already acquired. By degrees the mighty engine began to "slow." Trees
and houses instead of rushin