flowed on, notwithstanding the rude assault which had been made upon his corporal frame.

Finding that he was not killed, he struggled out from beneath the wreck which had overwhelmed him. His first consideration, after he had assured himself that he was comparatively uninjured, was for those who were his fellow-passengers on this race to ruin and death; and perhaps it is not strange that the fair young lady who had occupied the opposite seat in the car came to his mind. Men and women were disengaging themselves from the shapeless rubbish. Some wept, some groaned, and some were motionless and silent.

He did not see the fair stranger among those who were struggling back to consciousness. A portion of the top of the car lay near him, which he raised up. It rested heavily upon the form of a maiden, which he at once recognized by the dress to be that of the gentle stranger. The sight roused all his energies; and he felt that strength which had fired his muscles when he trod the field of battle. With desperate eagerness, he raised the heavy fragment which was crowding out the young life of the tender form, and bore it away, so that she was released from its cruel pressure.

She, poor girl! felt it not; for her eyes were closed, and her marble cheek was stained with blood. The young officer, tenderly interested in her fate, bent over her, and raised the inanimate form. He bore it in his arms to a green spot, away from the scattered fragments of the train, and laid it gently down upon the bosom of mother earth. By all the means within his power, he endeavored to convince himself that death had not yet invaded the lovely temple of her being. But still she was silent and motionless. There was not a sign by which he could determine the momentous question.

He was unwilling to believe that the beautiful stranger was dead. It seemed too hard and cruel that one so young and fair should be thus rudely hurried out of existence, without a mother or even a father near to receive her last gaze on earth, and listen to the soft sigh with which she breathed forth her last throb of existence. He had a telescopic drinking-cup in his pocket, with which he hastened to a brook that flowed through the valley. Filling it with water, he returned to his charge. He sprinkled her face, and rubbed her temples, and exerted himself to the best of his knowledge and ability to awaken some signs of life.

The task seemed hopeless; and he was about to abandon it in despair, to render assistance to those who needed it more than the fair, silent form before him, when an almost imperceptible sigh gladdened his heart, and caused him to renew his exertions. Procuring another cup of water, he persistently sprinkled the fair face and chafed the temples of his charge. With his handkerchief he washed away the blood-stains, and ascertained that she was only slightly cut just above the ear.

Cheered by the success which had rewarded his efforts, he continued to bathe and chafe till the gentle stranger opened her eyes. In a few moments more she recovered her consciousness, and cast a bewildered glance around her.

“Where is my father?” said she; and, as she spoke, the fearful nature of the catastrophe dawned upon her mind, and she partially rose from her recumbent posture.

Lieutenant Somers could not tell where her father was, and his first thought was that he must be beneath the wreck of the shattered cars. For the first time, he looked about him to measure with his eye the extent of the calamity. At that moment he discovered the engine, with the forward part of the train, backing down the railroad. Only the two rear cars had been precipitated over the embankment; the accident having been caused by the breaking of an axle on the last car but one. The shackle connecting this with the next one had given way, and the broken car had darted off the bank, carrying the rear one with it, while the rest of the train dashed on to its destination.

Of course the calamity was immediately discovered; but a considerable time elapsed—as time was measured by those who were suffering and dying beneath the débris of the train—before the engine could be stopped, and backed to the scene of the accident. Lieutenant Somers had seen the lady’s father go forward, and had heard him say he was going to the smoking-car; he was therefore satisfied that he was safe.

“He will be here presently,” he replied to the anxious question of the fair stranger.

“Perhaps he was—oh, dear! Perhaps he was——”

“Oh, no! he wasn’t. The smoking-car was not thrown off the track,” interposed the young officer, promptly removing from her mind the terrible fear which took possession of her first conscious moments. “Are you much hurt?”

“I don’t know; I don’t think I am; but one of my arms feels very numb.”

“Let me examine it,” continued our traveler, tenderly raising the injured member.

He was not deeply skilled in surgery; but he knew enough of the mysteries of anatomy to discover that the arm was broken between the elbow and the shoulder.

“I am afraid your arm is broken,” said he cautiously, as though he feared the announcement would cause her to faint again.

“I am glad it is no worse,” said she with a languid smile, and without exhibiting the least indication of feminine weakness.

“It might have been worse, certainly. Can I do anything more for you?” added Lieutenant Somers, glancing at the wreck of the cars, with a feeling that his duty then was a less pleasing one than that of attending to the wants of the beautiful stranger; for there were still men and women lying helpless and unserved in the midst of the ruins.

The train stopped upon the road; and the passengers, though appalled by the sight, rushed down the bank to render willing assistance to the sufferers. Among them was the father of the young lady, who leaped frantically down the steep, and passed from one to another of the forms which the survivors had taken from the wreck.

“There is your father,” said Lieutenant Somers as he recognized him among the excited passengers. “I will go and tell him where you are.”

“Do, if you please,” replied the lady faintly.

He ran to the distracted parent, and seized him by the arm as he dashed from one place to another in search of the gentle maiden whose life was part of his own.

“Your daughter is out here, sir,” said Lieutenant Somers, pointing to the spot where he had borne her.

“My daughter!” gasped the agonized father. “Where—where?”

“In this direction, sir.”

“Is she—O Heaven, spare me!” groaned he.

“She is hurt, but I think not very badly. Her left arm is broken, and her head is slightly cut.”

“O God, I thank Thee!” gasped the father, as he walked with the lieutenant to the place where the young lady was sitting on the grass.

“I think you need not be alarmed about her,” added our officer, anxious to console the suffering parent.

“My poor Emmie!” exclaimed the anxious father when they reached the spot, while he knelt down upon the grass by her side, the tears coursing in torrents down his pale cheeks.

“Don’t be alarmed, father,” replied she, putting her uninjured arm around his neck and kissing him, while their tears mingled. “I am not much hurt, father.”

Lieutenant Somers had a heart as well as a strong and willing arm, and he could not restrain his own tears as he witnessed the touching scene. The meeting seemed to be so sacred to him, that he could not stand an idle gazer upon the expression of that hallowed affection as it flowed from the warm hearts of the father and daughter.

“As I can be of no further