trying to open the door. But the interior of the
carriage was dark as pitch, and my knife was
useless, while now I was sure there was a struggle
going on inside. Directly after, one of the little
side panes of glass was broken, and I heard a
faint cry.

I dashed in the door-window in an instant,
cutting my hands with the thick glass, and then,
beating out the loose pieces, made a place for
entrance, and had half my body in before I felt
myself seized by some one who tried to force me
back.

Two hands held me by the throat, while I
grasped the door with one hand, half in and half
out of the carriage. My blood was up. I had
hold of my unseen enemy by the collar, and I dug
my knuckles into his neck as I held on for life
like a bull-dog.

I had the advantage of him there, for, while I
had on a stiff collar and buttoned-up uniform-
coat, he had only a thin dress shirt-collar, and
one of those black wisps of ties. It was a struggle
for life and death with me, but I got further and
further in. At last, I suppose, feeling half
choked, he started back and drew me with him,
so that I fell heavily on the floor.

Here, though, I lost my hold, and he had me
again at a disadvantage. For what seemed a good
five minutes, it was an up and down struggle,
while more than once I felt myself dashed
against somebody who was crouching in a corner
of the carriage.

Sometimes I got the better and sometimes the
worst off. After the struggle had been going
on some time, it seemed that the far door was
open, and that there was no one else in the
carriage but us two, hanging on to one another like
a pair of wild beasts. Then came such a horrible
reaction that my strength seemed to leave me,
for I felt that in her fear and dread the poor girl
had leaped out.

But she had not, for she was outside, clinging
for life to the handles, as in one brief glance I
saw by the end light of the train flashing upon
her. In a last fierce struggle my foot tripped,
and I and the man I was struggling with fell
headlong out of the door. There was a flash of
light, the sound of rushing wind, and then I
seemed to be dashed with fearful violence upon
the ground.

The next thing I recollect is the sound of
voices, and the hissing of the steam of an engine
close by me, while some two or three people
were moving about with lanterns. I found some
one supporting my head; and then I gave a
shudder, for there were horrible red patches and
marks on the white ground. As the men spoke
in whispers, I could see they were collecting
together something horrible, that steamed in the
cold air. A mist came over me, and I fainted
dead away.

When I could think again, I found that I had
been some time in a London hospital, and was
lying there in a ward, looking at a pair of soft
white hands that didn't seem to belong to me,
while my head felt cool through my hair being
cut off.

But I got stronger every day, and soon I had
visitors to see me; and one face that came, and
used to lean over my poor bare pallet, was, as it
were, the face of an angel—so sweet, so loving,
and so tender in its compassionate look; and
once, while the old lady stood back, two tiny
soft hands smoothed my pillow, and a tear fell
on my cheek, as a voice whispered:

"God bless you, my brave preserver."

I shut my eyes then, and trembled, for there
was a bitter feeling of sorrow came over me,
and, in spite of those tender words, I seemed to
be standing on the brink of a great gulf, far away
from her.

As I grew stronger, I learned from her mother
how they had been deceived. It was through
answering an advertisement for a governess that
the poor girl had met with insult. She had been
deluded into accompanying the gentleman, under
pretence of his taking her to his home, a few
miles down the line. He had paid the penalty
of the crime he had meditated with his life. An
up train tore him to pieces—an up train which
must have passed within a few inches of my head.

The train from which we fell had been stopped
by the guard a few miles further down, when the
poor girl was found clinging outside the carriage.
An engine and tender were sent back in search
of us, to find us as I have already told.

I only saw her once again, when she gave me
this—this little purse, just as you see. She
spoke to me kindly and tenderly, and they were
words of praise, I think; but I saw her only
through a mist, and the thought that it was for
the last time seemed to fill my mind so that I
could only speak huskily. I kissed one of her
hands as she said "Good-bye;" and then I was
standing alone—alone in the world, without aim
or hope. You will please to remember that she
was a lady, and that I am—only a railway servant.

On Thursday, 12th December, will be published
THE
EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS,
ENTITLED
NO THOROUGHFARE.
BY CHARLES DICKENS
AND WILKIE COLLINS.

To commence in the Number dated Saturday,
January 4, 1868,
THE MOONSTONE;
A NEW SERIAL STORY
By WILKIE COLLINS.