"Yes—yes—and it's you—God have mercy if I've killed you!"
In a moment the older brother had caught Ned's sinking body and lowered it gently on the leaves.
"It's all right, John, old man," he gasped. "If I had to die it's just as well by your hand. It's war—it's hell—all hell—anyhow—what's the difference——"
"But you mustn't die, Boy!" John whispered fiercely. "You mustn't, I tell you!"
"I didn't want to die," Ned sighed. "Life was—just—becoming—real—beautiful—wonderful——"
He stopped and drew a deep breath.
John bent lower and Ned's arm slipped toward his neck and his fingers touched the warm blood soaking his clothes.
"I'm—afraid—I—got—you,—too,—John——"
"No, I'm all right—brace up, Boy. Pull that devil will of yours together—we've both got it—and live!"
The younger man's head had sunk on his brother's blood-stained breast.