But the wheezy old Station-Master happened to be close behind me: he
wasn't good for much, poor old man, but he was good for this; and,
before I could turn round, he had the child clasped in his arms, saved
from the certain death she was rushing to. So intent was I in watching
this scene, that I hardly saw a flying figure in a light grey suit,
who shot across from the back of the platform, and was on the line in
another second. So far as one could take note of time in such a moment
of horror, he had about ten clear seconds, before the Express would be
upon him, in which to cross the rails and to pick up Bruno. Whether he
did so or not it was quite impossible to guess: the next thing one knew
was that the Express had passed, and that, whether for life or death,
all was over. When the cloud of dust had cleared away, and the line
was once more visible, we saw with thankful hearts that the child and
his deliverer were safe.
"All right!" Eric called to us cheerfully, as he recrossed the line.
"He's more frightened than hurt!"
[Image...Crossing the line]
He lifted the little fellow up into Lady Muriel's arms, and mounted
the platform as gaily as if nothing had happened: but he was as
pale as death, and leaned heavily on the arm I hastily offered him,
fearing he was about to faint. "I'll just--sit down a moment--" he
said dreamily: "--where's Sylvie?"
Sylvie ran to him, and flung her arms round his neck, sobbing as if her
heart would break.
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