The next thing she remembered was finding a flask held to her lips, while
a familiar voice commanded her to drink. She shook her head feebly.
"Drink it at once," the voice insisted. "Do you hear?"
And because her mind held some dim recollection of the futility of
gainsaying that peremptory voice, she opened her lips obediently and let
the strong spirit trickle down her throat.
"Better now?" queried the voice.
She nodded, and then, complete consciousness returning, she sat up.
"I'm all right now--really," she said.
The owner of the voice regarded her critically.
"Yes, I think you'll do now," he returned. "Stay where you are. I'm
going along to see if I can help, but I'll come back to you again."
The darkness swallowed him up, and Diana sat very still on the
embankment, vibrantly conscious in every nerve of her of the man's cool,
dominating personality. Gradually her thoughts returned to the
happenings of the moment, and then the full horror of what had occurred
came back to her. She began to cry weakly. But the tears did her good,
bringing with them relief from the awful shock which had strained her
nerves almost to breaking-point, and with return to a more normal state
of mind came the instinctive wish to help--to do something for those who
must be suffering so pitiably in the midst of that scarred heap of
wreckage on the line.
She scrambled to her feet and made her way nearer to the mass of crumpled
coaches that reared up black against the shimmer of the starlit sky.
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