ried for his sake to stifle the sobs
that smote through her.

By and by Drury's voice grew hoarse, and he whispered. She bent close
and heard. She called to Crosson:

"Run get the doctor to give him something--some morphine or
something--quick. Every second is agony for my poor boy."

Crosson ran to the doctor. He stood among writhing bodies and shook his
head dismally. He was saying as Crosson came up:

"I'm sorry, I'm awful sorry, folks, but the last grain of morphine is
gone. The drug-stores haven't got any more. We've telegraphed to the
next town. You'll just have to stand it."

Crosson went back slowly with that heavy burden of news. He whispered it
to Irene, but Drury heard him, and a shriek of despair went from him
like a flash of fire. New blazes sprang up with an impish merriment.
Crosson, fearing for Irene's safety, fought at them with earth and with
water that boys fetched from distances, and at last extinguished the
immediate fire.

The bystanders worked elsewhere, but Crosson lingered to protect Irene.
In the dark he could hear Drury whispering something to her.

He pleaded, wheedled, kissed her hand, mumbled it like a dog, reasoned
with her insanely, while she trembled all over, a shivering leaf on a
blown twig.

Crosson could hear occasional phrases: "If you love me, you will--if
you love me, Reny. What do you want me to suffer for, honey? You don't
want me just to suffer--just to suffer, do you--you don't, do you? Reny
honey, Reny? You say you love me, and you won't do the thing that will
help me. You don't love me. That's it, you don't really love me!"

She turned to Crosson at last and moaned: "He wants me to kill him! What
can I do? Oh, what is there to do?"

Crosson could not bear to look in her eyes. He could not bear the sound
of Drury's voice. He could not even debate that problem. He was cravenly
glad when somebody's hand seized him and a rough voice called him away
to other toil. He slunk off.

There were miseries enough wherever he went, but they were the miseries
of strangers. He could not forget Irene and the riddle of duty that was
hers. He avoided the spot where she was closeted with grief, and worked
remote in the glimmer from bonfires lighted in the fields alongside.

The fire in the wreck was out now, save that here and there little
blazes appeared, only to be quenched at once. But smoldering timbers
crackled like rifle-shots, and there were thunderous slidings of
wreckage