"Look at his left hand." said Mr. Henry.

"It is all bloody," said I.

"On the inside?" said he.

"It is cut on the inside," said I.

"I thought so," said he, and turned his back.

I opened the man's clothes; the heart was quite still, it gave not
a flutter.

"God forgive us, Mr. Henry!" said I. "He is dead."

"Dead?" he repeated, a little stupidly; and then with a rising
tone, "Dead? dead?" says he, and suddenly cast his bloody sword
upon the ground.

"What must we do?" said I. "Be yourself, sir. It is too late now:
you must be yourself."

He turned and stared at me. "Oh, Mackellar!" says he, and put his
face in his hands.

I plucked him by the coat. "For God's sake, for all our sakes, be
more courageous!" said I. "What must we do?"

He showed me his face with the same stupid stare.