He was getting tired and panting a little. Coombe bent nearer to him.
"I can guess the rest. I have been reading books on such subjects. He told you how to concentrate on dreaming and try to get near her. He helped you by suggestion himself—"
"He used to lie awake night after night and do it—and I began to dream— No, it was not a dream. I believe I got to her— He did it—and they killed him!"
"Hush! hush!" cried Coombe. "Of all men he would most ardently implore you to hold yourself still—"
Donal made some strange effort. He lay still.
"Yes, he would! Yes—of all the souls in the other world he'd be strongest. He saved me—he saved Robin—he saved the child—you—all of us! Perhaps he's here now! He said he'd come if he could. He believed he could."
He lay quiet for a few seconds and then the Donal smile they had all adored lighted up his face.
"Jackson, old chap!" he said. "I can't see you—but I'll do what you want me to do—I'll do it."
He fainted the next minute and the doctors came to him.
The facts which came later still were that Jackson had developed consumption, and exposure and brutality had done their worst. And Donal had seen his heart wringing end.