"
As she spoke, the body of a man was passed out of the smoke close to
her, and she saw that it was Wynne. Instantly she remembered being
flung into his arms, although what followed she could not recall. She
looked at him now with a piercing conviction that he was dead. His
cassock hung about him in rags, his face was smeared with blood and
grime, his arm hung limp and bleeding. The words of the rescuer on the
car-roof came to her, and she saw in the disfigured form of the young
deacon the body of the man who had given his life for hers. Instantly
all her powers rallied to help and if possible to save him.
"Bring him this way," she said, stepping forward eagerly, her weakness
forgotten. "I'll take care of him."
She moved out of the smoke without any clear idea where she was going
or what she could do. The hurt man was brought after her, one of the
many that were being carried as dead weights among the confused and
agonized crowd. At a short distance from the track there were hastily
arranged car-cushions, coats, and loose coverings thrown down on a bank
half covered with snow. Here the bearers laid Wynne, hurrying back to
their work with a precipitancy which seemed to Berenice heartless.
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