There followed a cough as if something choked all utterance, and then again that mute, gigantic struggle for freedom.
It was over at last. Out of the wreckage there staggered the dreadful likeness of a man. The lantern had been brought and shone full upon the ghastly sight. He was torn, battered, half-naked, and the whole of his face was blackened and streaming with blood.
"Noel! Is it Noel?" asked Colonel Bradlaw.
And the man himself made answer, spitting forth the blood that impeded his utterance.
"Yes, it's me! But I'm done, sir! I'm done! Bring a light someone! I can't see—where I'm going!"
The moonstone-seller's arm was round him, holding him up. "All right, lad! I've got you!" he said.
"But bring a light! Bring a light!" A note of panic ran through the reiterated words "Confound it! I must see—I will see—I—"
"My dear lad, you can't see for a minute." It was Nick's voice, quick and soothing. "This infernal blood has got into your eyes. Come and have them attended to! You'll be better directly."
"No! It's not the blood! It's not the blood!" The words tumbled over each other, well-nigh incoherent in their fevered utterance. And suddenly Noel flung up his arms above his head with a wild and anguished cry. "My God! I'm blind! I'm blind!"
With the cry his strength—that fiery strength born of emergency—collapsed quite suddenly. His knees doubled under him. He fell forward in utter, overwhelming impotence, and lay prone and senseless at the Colonel's feet….