t she had
difficulty in keeping her feet as she staggered into the shelter of the
wall. The scene before her was one of horror and desolation. She saw at
once the cause of the accident--the express had dashed into an advancing
train, and the two engines lay smashed by the terrific force of the
collision. A few passengers who, like herself, had managed to make their
escape stood by the line--some half-dazed and staring helplessly, others
already attempting to rescue those who were pinned under the wreckage.
The guard, his face livid and streaming with blood, was running to the
nearest signal box to notify the disaster, and some labourers were
hurrying from a group of cottages near, bringing an axe and a piece of
rope. To the end of her life Miss Barbara will never recall without a
shudder the pathetic sights she witnessed as the injured were dragged
from the splintered carriages. But the worst was yet to come. Almost
immediately a cry of "Fire!" was raised, and the flames, starting from
one of the overturned engines and fanned by the furious wind, gained a
fierce hold on the broken woodwork, which flared up and burned like
tinder.

"Come awa'!" screamed a countrywoman, seizing Miss Sherbourne almost
roughly by the arm. "You with a bairn! Bring it to our hoose yonder out
o' the wind. The men are doing a' they can, and we canna help 'em. It's
no fit sight for women. Come, I tell ye! Th' train's naught but a
blazin' bonfire, and them as is under it's as good as gone. Don't look!
Don't look! Come, in the Lord's name!"

"Then may He have mercy on their souls!" said Miss Barbara, as with
bowed head she allowed herself to be led away.

The news of the accident was telegraphed down the line, and as speedily
as possible a special train, bearing doctors and nurses, arrived on the
spot. The sufferers were carried to the little village of Greenfield,
close by, and attended to at once, some who were well enough to travel
going on by a relief train, while others who were more seriously injured
remained until they could communicate with their friends. The fire,
meanwhile, had done its fatal work, and little was left of any of the
carriages but heaps of charred ashes. Those who had escaped
comparatively unhurt had, with the aid of the few farm labourers who
were near at the time, worked with frantic and almost superhuman
endeavour to rescue any fellow-passengers within their reach; but they
had at last been driven back by the fury of