“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.