to him, shuddering.

"Speak, can't you?" His utterance sounded hoarse and distorted. "You're
hurt--?" And she felt his hands slide searchingly along her limbs,
feeling and groping.

"No--no."

"Thank God!" He spoke under his breath. Then, giving her a shake:
"Come, pull yourself together. We must get out of this."

He fumbled in his pocket and she heard the rattle of a matchbox, and an
instant later a flame spurted out in the gloom as he lit a bundle of
matches together. In the brief illumination she could see the floor of
the compartment steeply tilted up and at its further end what looked like
a huge, black cavity. The whole side of the carriage had been wrenched
away.

"Come on!" exclaimed the man, catching her by the hand and pulling her
forward towards that yawning space. "We must jump for it. It'll be a
big drop. I'll catch you."

At the edge of the gulf he paused. Below, with eyes grown accustomed to
the darkness, she could discern figures running to and fro, and lanterns
flashing, while shouts and cries rose piercingly above a continuous low
undertone of moaning.

"Stand here," he directed her. "I'll let myself down, and when I call to
you--jump."