"God in Heaven! It was you, Raney!"
"What was me?" he flung back, leaping out of the chair as though I were attacking him.
We stood face to face, panting with excitement.
"I heard what happened," I said. "Of course I didn't know who it was. A fellow in the hospital train, after you were cut down——"
O'Rane stumbled forward and laid his maimed hands clumsily on my shoulders.
"Man, you don't want to drive me mad, do you?" he whispered.
I threw an arm round his waist and led him back to his chair. He dropped limply back and sat motionless, save when he wiped his forehead with the back of his glove.
"It's been touch-and-go as it is," he murmured, pressing his hand against his side. "Now and again ... when I can't sleep, you know ... and it all comes back ... I—I—I never know how long I can keep my brain." He stretched out his hand for me to take. "Promise me one thing, George!" he begged, with a graver note in his voice. "You'll never ask me about it or mention it to me? And you won't pity me? And—and—well, you know the sort of thing I can't stand, George."
"I promise."