ounded
passengers were something appalling. Already the passengers in the fore
part of the train, who had escaped unhurt, together with the officials
and a few villagers who happened to be on the spot, were doing their
best to rescue these unfortunates from the terrible wreckage in which
they were entangled.

Captain Ducie was the first man from the accident to cross the threshold
of "The Golden Griffin." He demanded to be shown the best spare room in
the house. On the bed in this room he laid the body of the still
insensible Platzoff. His next act was to despatch a mounted messenger
for the nearest doctor. Then, having secured the services of a brisk,
steady-nerved chambermaid, he proceeded to dress the wound as well as
the means at his command would allow of--washing it, and cutting away
the hair, and, by means of some ice, which he was fortunate enough to
procure, succeeding in all but stopping the bleeding, which, to a man so
frail of body, so reduced in strength as Platzoff, would soon have been
fatal. A teaspoonful of brandy administered at brief intervals did its
part as a restorative, and some minutes before the doctor's arrival
Ducie had the satisfaction of seeing his patient's eyes open, and of
hearing him murmur faintly a few soft guttural words in some language
which the Captain judged to be his native Russ.

Platzoff had quite recovered his senses by the time the doctor arrived,
but was still too feeble to do more than whisper a few unconnected
words. There were many claimants this forenoon on the doctor's
attention, and the services required by Platzoff at his hands had to be
performed as expeditiously as possible.

"You must make up your mind to be a guest of 'The Golden Griffin' for at
least a week to come," he said, as he took up his hat preparatory to
going. "With quiet, and care, and a strict adherence to my instructions,
I daresay that by the end of that time you will be sufficiently
recovered to leave here for your own home. Humanly speaking, sir, you
owe your life to this gentleman," indicating Ducie. "But for his skill
and promptitude you would have been a dead man before I reached you."

Platzoff's thin white hand was extended feebly. Ducie took it in his
sinewy palms and pressed it gently. "You have this day done for me what
I can never forget," whispered the Russian, brokenly. Then he closed his
eyes, and seemed to sink off into a sleep of exhaustion.

Leaving strict injunctions with the c