And the barriers fall.
...
Sudden the worst turns the best to the brave
The black minute’s at end.’
Browning.
Before very long some orderlies came and fetched Do’-no-who. It was touching to see the patients—all who could—standing at attention as the stretcher came down the ward and was carried out through the door. Even those in bed managed to raise a weak hand to their forehead as the big frame of Donohue wrapped in a Union Jack passed along.
One, Murphy, a quiet little Irishman with ferrety eyes who occupied the adjoining bed, had scarcely spoken all the time. We were not surprised, for he too had suffered badly from the gas, but judging by the way he kept his eyes rivetted on Do’-no-who we felt he took more than ordinary interest in his case. Now, as the sad little procession disappeared, Murphy turned right over on his pillow and quietly covered his face with his sheet. When a little later we told him we had put his supper near him, he left it untouched, and silently declined to emerge from his retreat.
That night when most of the others had gone to sleep, Murphy was seen to uncover his face, and as the night Sister passed down the ward he signalled to her.
Most pitifully red and tear-stained though he was, he had evidently something important to say. He began abruptly:
‘I’m spakin’ God’s truth to ye, Sister, I tell you I saw him miself.’