All that Madge had ever felt before in her life grew dim in the intensity of this. The moment was close now, but somehow she no longer feared it. Fear could not live in these high altitudes: it died like some fever-germ. "Yes, dear, you went shooting," she said. "We were to meet at lunch, you know. But just before lunch there was an accident. You were shot, shot in the face." His hands grew restless again, and he shifted backwards and forwards in bed. "Ah, yes," he said, "that is just what I could not remember. I was shot--yes, yes: I remember how it stung, but it didn't hurt very much. Then I fell down in the heather: I can't think why, but I stumbled--I couldn't see. I was bleeding, too; the heather was warm and sweet-smelling, but there was blood, too, that tasted so horrible--like--like blood, there is nothing--all over my face. And then--well, what then?" "We brought you back, dear," said she, "and you had an operation. They had to extract the shot. It was all done very satisfactorily: you are going on very well." Then all the nervous trembling in Evelyn's hands and the quick twitching of his body ceased, and he lay quite still a moment, gathering himself together to hear. "Madge," he said, speaking more slowly, "will you please tell me all? I don't think you have told me all yet. I want to hear it, for I feel there is more yet. I was shot: that is all I know, and am lying here with a bandaged face. Well?" Madge's voice did not falter; that love and pity which possessed her had for this moment anyhow complete mastery over the frailness and cowardice of the mere flesh. She just took hold of both his hands, clasping them tightly in her's, and spoke. "You were shot all over the upper part of your face," she said. "You----" But he interrupted her. "Who shot me?" he asked. "Guy Ellington," she said. "The shot ricocheted off a rock and hit you. It was not his fault." "By Gad, poor devil!" said Evelyn. "Yes, dear; I wrote to him just now, saying just that, how sorry I was for him and how sorry you would be when you knew. You--you were shot very badly, dear Evelyn. You were shot in the eyes, in both eyes----" Again there was silence. Then he spoke hoarsely: "Do you mean that, all that?" he said. "Yes, dear; all that. And I had better say it. You are blind, Evelyn." Then deep down from the very heart of her came the next words which spoke themselves. "I wish I could have died instead," she said. He lay long absolutely motionless; there was no quiver of any kind on the corners of his mouth to show that he even understood. But she knew he understood, it was because he understood that he lay like that. At last he spoke again, and the sorrow and anguish in his voice was still comfort to her beyond all price. "So I shall never see you again," he said. Then she bent over the bed, and kissed him on the mouth.