And Nap's voice, thrilled through and through with a tenderness that was more than human, made answer. "Just a little longer, dear old man! Only a little longer! See! I'm holding you up. Turn up the lamp, doctor. Take off the shade. He can't see me. There, old chap! Look at me now. Grip hold of me. You can't go yet. I'm with you. I'm holding you back."
Capper trickled something out of a spoon between the pale lips, and for a little there was silence.
But the blue eyes remained wide, fixed upon those other fiery eyes that held them by some mysterious magic from falling into sightlessness.
Three figures had come in through the open door, moving wraith-like, silently. The room seemed full of shadows.
After a while Lucas spoke again, and this time his lips moved perceptibly. "It's such a long way back, Boney,—no end of a trail—and all up hill."
The flare of the lamp was full upon Nap's face; it threw the harsh lines into strong relief, and it seemed to Anne, watching, that she looked upon the face of a man in extremity. His voice too—was that Nap's voice pleading so desperately?
"Don't be faint-hearted, old chap! I'll haul you up. It won't be so tough presently. You're through the worst already. Hold on, Luke, hold on!"
Again Capper poured something between the parted lips, and a quiver ran through the powerless body.
"Hold on!" Nap repeated. "You promised you would. You mustn't go yet, old boy. You can't be spared. I shall go to the devil without you."
"Not you, Boney!" Lucas's lips quivered into a smile. "That's all over," he said. "You're playing—the straight game—now."