But I myself was struggling desperately against the drugged slumber pressing down upon me.

“Lakla!” I heard O’Keefe murmur. “Lakla of the golden eyes⁠—no Eilidh⁠—the Fair!” He made an immense effort, half raised himself, grinned faintly.

“Thought this was paradise when I first saw it, Doc,” he sighed. “But I know now, if it is, No-Man’s Land was the greatest place on Earth for a honeymoon. They⁠—they’ve got us, Doc⁠—” He sank back. “Good luck, old boy, wherever you’re going.” His hand waved feebly. “Glad⁠—knew⁠—you. Hope⁠—see⁠—you⁠—’gain⁠—”