“‘Your case is like this, Dalton,’ said he, ‘if the caustic action of the ammonia has not burned through the conjunctiva and into the cornea the prognosis is good; otherwise it is bad—but I don’t anticipate total blindness.’
“‘How soon will you be able to tell with certainty?’ asked Dalton, calmly.
“‘Probably when I dress your eyes to-morrow,’ said the Doctor, adding, ‘at the worst, you will never be in the dark....’
“‘I know....’ Dalton’s voice was very low, very quiet; ... ‘you mean that I will live behind ground glass....’
“The firm mouth stiffened and the triangular space which it occupied beneath the bandages grew suddenly white. At a sign from the doctor we picked him up and carried him to his berth and left him there to fight his fight alone.
“That night I sat late with Burton and the pious old chief had a sharp tussle to remain within the bounds of Christian submission as we discussed the accident. I soon discovered that he knew more of Dalton than he cared to tell, but I asked no questions. When I left him at eleven o’clock I passed the open door of Dalton’s room, and as I did so I was conscious of one of those long, deep, shuddering inspirations which scarcely carry sound and seem wrung less from the body than the tortured soul.
“‘Are you in pain?’ I whispered, for I did not wish to wake him if he should be asleep.
“‘In torture, Doctor Leyden,’ came the low answer; ‘but it is not of the flesh.’
“This was the first indication that I was known to him. I slipped into the room and went to the head of his bunk.
“‘May I sit with you?’ I asked.