Part 57 (1/2)

And as Aylmer looked down he felt a thrill of what must have been nearly akin to sympathy. G.o.d help the mutilated wretch!

His arms hung beside him limp and helpless, the fractured bones distorted in hideous angles. There were marks as of burns upon his face.

But the supreme horror was in the sockets which held nothing recognizable as human eyes. Coals might have lain within them--coals pressed down to find their quenching there.

He moaned ceaselessly, swinging himself from side to side. And then words came slowly, piteously, one by one.

”Oil!” he gasped. ”For G.o.d's sake, a little oil--upon my eyes!”

Sigismondi shuddered. Then he bent and placed his hand compa.s.sionately on the scarred temple.

”As soon as it can be found, my brother,” he said. ”Try to keep your courage while we do our utmost. We have to carry you--where you can be treated.”

The tortured wretch moaned again and made an instinctive effort to raise a hand to his face. He shrieked as the shattered bones failed him, shrieked and cursed in hideous blasphemies. His brain began to wander upon the border-line of delirium.

”Hours--days--weeks,” he wailed. ”Broken--broken! Immovable and always in agony--burning--my eyes--my eyes! And the rain--running over them and bringing more agony--and more--and more. And unable to move a finger. My feet hanging in emptiness--my hands crushed in upon me--crushed--crushed--crushed!”

The quartermaster made a gesture of infinite compa.s.sion.

”The room had been newly plastered, do you see?” he whispered. ”He was caught bodily--in the closing of the walls--as a nutcracker closes. And he was held and crushed--like the nut. The lime was deep upon his face--and when the rain came, was.h.i.+ng it in--eating him--” He turned away with another pregnant motion of his hands, as if he put from him the picture which imagination conjured up.

Aylmer leaned down and spoke.

”We are going to take you from here,” he said. ”We are going to lift you. Be prepared.”

Landon's groans ceased. His body became suddenly rigid with attention.

”Jack?” he whispered incredulously. ”Jack?”

”It is I,” said Aylmer gravely. ”I--am unhurt.”

Landon's face grew yet more distorted.

”Claire?” he muttered eagerly. ”Claire--is gone?”

A light gleamed tempestuously in Aylmer's eyes and then as quickly died.

His voice was even and restrained.

”She is safe, and well,” he said. ”She is on her father's yacht.”

An inarticulate howl of rage burst from Landon's lips. He rocked himself to and fro; he made as if he would beat his broken hands upon the stones.

”G.o.d! If they'd suffered alongside me, if they'd been there, if they had given me groan for groan, I could have stood it--enjoyed it--d.a.m.n them, I could have laughed with the lime in my eyes, if they'd been there--if they'd been there!”

He jerked himself to a sitting posture; he writhed backwards and forwards. His spite was a sort of ecstasy, possessing him, freeing him, as it seemed, from even the sense of pain.

Aylmer made a significant motion. He bent and slipped his arms beneath Landon's shoulders. The quartermaster lifted his knees.

Landon struggled in their arms.