Barbazon's--the
horseshoe--among the wolves, just to show I could do things better than
any one else--as if I had the patent for setting the world right. And
now--now--"
The thought of the bridge, of Marchand's devilish design, shot into his
mind, and once more he was shaken. "The bridge! Blind! Mother!" he
called in a voice twisted in an agony which only those can feel to whom
life's purposes are even more than life itself. Then, with a moan, he
became unconscious, and his head rolled over against Rockwell's cheek.
The damp of his brow was as the damp of death as Rockwell's lips touched
it.
"Old boy, old boy!" Rockwell said tenderly, "I wish it had been me
instead. Life means so much to you--and so little to me. I've seen too
much, and you've only just begun to see."
Laying him gently down, Rockwell summoned the nurse and Jim Beadle and
spoke to them in low tones. "He knows now, and it has hit him hard, but
not so hard that he won't stiffen to it. It might have been worse."
He gave instructions as to the care that should be taken, and replaced
the bandages on the eyes. It was, however, long before Ingolby was
restored to consciousness, and when it came, Rockwell put to his lips a
cooling drink containing a powerful opiate.
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