He seemed remarkably strong and hearty; far from any danger of death. Stubs of cigarettes were lying in an ash-tray on the bed. In a moment or two they settled me down and left me alone with him.
As soon as he heard the click of the door he said:
"I've done more than I set out to do. You remember our conversation. I said I should either get the V.C. or never see you again. I've managed both."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I shall never see you or anybody else again, or a dog or a cat, or a tree or a flower."
Then, for the first time the dreadful truth broke upon me.
"Good Heavens!" I cried. "Your eyes—?"
"Done in. Blind. It's a bit ironical, isn't it?" He laughed bitterly.
What I said by way of sympathy and consolation is neither here nor there. I spoke sincerely from my heart, for I felt overwhelmed by the tragedy of it all. He stretched out his hand and grasped mine.
"I knew you wouldn't fail me. Your sort never does. You understand now why I wanted you to come?—To prepare the old mother for the shock. You've seen for yourself that I'm sound of wind and limb—as fit as a fiddle. You can make it quite clear to her that I'm not going to die yet awhile. And you can let her down easy on the real matter. Tell her I'm as merry as possible and looking forward to going about Wellingsford with a dog and string."