I murmured the lines to keep myself from falling asleep. What had Barbara’s thoughts been when I lay waking the night before? Suddenly my sight was dimmed with a curtain of blood; and I stopped the car in twice its length because I could not see the road before me. If indeed I had fallen asleep, I had looked for a moment, through this red curtain, on a sun-washed verandah, where a dying man was gasping for breath.
“And there’s one night you’ll find me by your side—
. . . The night that they shall tell me you have died.”
The vision faded before I could make out whether Eric was speaking to Barbara or listening for her voice.
The unexpected jolt had flung O’Rane out of his seat; and, as he pulled himself back into place, he could hear me stopping the engine.
“Is anything the matter?,” he asked.
“Eric Lane’s just died.”
“Good God! When?”
“This moment. I . . . pulled up to avoid him,” I answered without knowing what I was saying. “He’s gone now. Poor devil! Oh, poor devil!”
If I was shaken, O’Rane was in no better case: