The doctor backed out of the room, leaving the brothers alone.
“Just a little, word, Dick.”
“Oh, Barney,” cried his brother, his breast heaving in a great sob, “I don't think I can.”
“Never mind then, old chap,” replied Barney, putting out his hand to him.
“Wait a minute, Barney. I will,” said Dick, instantly regaining hold of himself. As he spoke he knelt by the bed, took his brother's hand in both of his and, holding it to his face, spoke quietly and simply his prayer, closing with the words, “And O, my Father, keep my brother safe.” “And mine,” added Barney. “Amen.”
“Now, Dick, old boy, we're all ready.” And with a smile he met the doctor at the door.
In an hour all was over, and the grave faces of the doctor and the nurse told Dick all he dared not ask.
“How long before he will be quite conscious again?” he inquired.
“It will be an hour at least,” replied the surgeon, kindly, “before he can talk much.”
Without a word to anyone, Dick went away to his room, locked the door upon his lonely fight and came forth when the hour was gone, ready to help his brother if he should chance to need help for “the last weariness, the final strife.”