As the locomotive was beginning to emerge from the blackness of the tunnel, and those in its cab were just able to distinguish one another’s faces by the rapidly increasing light from the tunnel’s mouth, there came an awful crash and a shock like that of an earthquake.  A shower of loose rocks fell on, and into, the cab.  The locomotive was jerked backward with a sickening violence, and for a moment its driving wheels spun furiously above the track.  Then it broke loose from the train, and sprang forward.  In another moment it emerged from the tunnel, and was brought to a standstill, like some panting, frightened animal, a few yards beyond its mouth.

The occupants of the cab, bruised and shaken, stared at each other with blanched, awe-stricken faces.  They had seen the train behind them swallowed by a vast tumbling mass of rock, and believed themselves the only survivors of one of the most hideous of railroad disasters.  Only Rod thought he had seen the end of the baggage car protruding from the crushing mass, just as the locomotive became released and sprang forward.

“The tunnel roof has caved in,” said the engineman with a tone of horror; “and not a soul can have escaped beside ourselves.  All those hundreds of people are lying in there, crushed beyond recognition.  Oh, it is terrible! terrible!” and tears, expressive of the agony of his mind, coursed down the strong man’s cheeks.  Partially recovering himself in a moment, he said, “There is nothing left for us to do but go on to Euston, report what has happened, and stop all trains.”

Rod Blake agreed that this was the engineman’s first duty; but declared his intention of staying behind, and of going back into the tunnel, to see if there was not some one who might yet be saved.  In vain they urged him not to, and pointed out the danger as well as the hopelessness of the attempt.  He was certain that the end of the baggage car could be reached, and remembered the figure he had seen standing in it, as they entered the tunnel.  He felt no trace of resentment against Snyder Appleby now; only a great overwhelming pity, coupled with the conviction that he was still within reach of help.

Finally they left him; and, armed with an axe from the tender, the young fireman again entered the dreadful darkness.  Loose stones were still falling from the roof of the tunnel, and more than one of these struck and painfully bruised him.  The air was stifling with clouds of dust and smoke.  Only the lad’s dauntless will and splendid courage enabled him to keep on.  All at once the splintered end of a car assumed shape in the obscurity ahead of him.  He heard a slow rending of wood, as one after another of its stout timbers gave way, and then, above all other sounds, came an agonized human cry.

How Rod cut his way into that car, how he found and dragged out Snyder Appleby’s mangled form, or how he managed to bear its helpless weight to the open air and lay it on the ground beside the track, he never knew.  He only knew, after it had been done, that he had accomplished all this somehow, and that he was weak and faint from his exertions.  He also knew that he had barely escaped from the baggage car with his precious burden, when it was wholly crushed, and buried beneath the weight of rock from above.

Snyder had been conscious, and had spoken to him when he found him, pinned to the side of the car by its shattered timbers; but now he lay insensible, and apparently lifeless.  Rod dashed water in his face, and in a few minutes had the satisfaction of seeing a faint color flush the pallid cheeks.  Then the closed eyes opened once more, and gazed into the young fireman’s face.  The lips moved, and Rod bent his head to catch the faint sound.

“The cup is fairly yours, Rod; for I put the emery in my wheel myself.  Can you forgive ­” was what he heard.

Rodman’s eyes were filled with tears as he answered, “Of course I forgive you, fully and freely, old man.  But don’t worry about that now.  Keep quiet and don’t try to talk.  We’ll soon have you at home, where you’ll be all right, and get over this shake-up in no time.”

A bright smile passed over Snyder’s face, and glorified it.  Then his eyes closed wearily, never again to be opened in this world.  When help came, and the poor, torn body was tenderly lifted, its spirit had fled.  His faults had found forgiveness, here, from the one whom he had most deeply injured.  Is there any doubt but what he also found it in the home to which he had gone so peacefully, and with so happy a smile lighting his face?

Strange as it may seem, Snyder Appleby was the only victim of this curious accident; for the entire mass of falling material in the tunnel descended on the baggage car, of which he was the sole occupant.  The hundreds of excursionists in the coaches were badly shaken up, and greatly frightened by the sudden stopping of the train; but not one was seriously injured.

President Vanderveer first heard of the accident at Major Appleby’s house, where he was engaged in an earnest conversation with that gentleman, about his nephew and his adopted son.  While they were still talking, a carriage drove to the door, bearing Rod Blake and the lifeless form of him whom the young fireman had risked his life to save.

After the Major had listened to the story of the lad who brought to him at the same time joy and grief, the tears streamed down his furrowed cheeks, and he exclaimed, “My boy! my dear boy! the pride and hope of my old age!  Forgive me as you have forgiven him, and never leave me again.”

“I never will, Uncle,” was the answer.

At Snyder’s funeral the most beautiful floral tribute was an exact copy of the Steel Wheel Club’s railroad cup, in Parma violets, with the inscription, woven of white violets, “Forgive us our Trespasses.”  Directly behind the coffin, the members of the club marched in a body, headed by their captain, Rod Blake, whose resignation had never been accepted.

As for the young captain’s future, the events on which this story is founded, are of too recent occurrence for it to be predicted just yet.  That he will become a prominent railroad man, in some one of the many lines now opening before him, is almost certain.  He finished his apprenticeship with Truman Stump, on locomotive number 10, and became so fully competent to act as engineman himself, that the master mechanic offered him the position.  At the same time President Vanderveer invited him to become his private secretary, which place Rod accepted, as it seemed to him the best school in which to study the higher branches of railroad management.  He is still one of the most popular fellows on the road, and his popularity extends to every branch of the company’s service.  Even Smiler, the railroad dog, will leave his beloved trains for days at a time, to sit in the President’s office, and mount guard over the desk of the private secretary.

Not long ago, when the chief officer of the road was asked to explain the secret of Rod Blake’s universal popularity, he replied:  “I’m sure I don’t know, unless it is that he never allows his pride to get the better of his judgment, and always performs his duties on time.”