" And the man looked
down, slightingly, on the boyish figure beside him.
Ralph turned away in deep thought. If he could walk it in
three-quarters of an hour, he might yet be in time; time to do
something at least. Should he try?
But this accident, this delay, might it not be providential? Must he
always be striving against fate? against every circumstance that would
tend to relieve him? against every obstacle thrown into his path to
prevent him from bringing calamity on his own head? Must he?--but the
query went no further. The angel with the flaming sword came back to
guard the gates of thought, and conscience still was king. He would do
all that lay in his human power, with every moment and every muscle
that he had, to fulfil the stern command of duty, and then if he
should fail, it would be with no shame in his heart, no blot upon his
soul.
Already he was making his way through the thick underbrush along the
steep hill-side above the wreck, stumbling, falling, bruising his
hands and knees, and finally leaping down into the railroad track on
the other side of the piled-up cars. From there he ran along smoothly
on the ties, turning out once for a train of coal cars to pass him,
but stopping for nothing. A man at work in a field by the track asked
him what the matter was up the line; the boy answered him in as few
words as possible, walking while he talked, and then ran on again.
After he had gone a mile or more he came to a wagon-road crossing, and
wondered if, by following it, he would not sooner reach his journey's
end.
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