Page:War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy, John Luther Long, 1913.djvu/371

THE LETTER DAVE WROTE trying to recollect, then he shakes his head, like he couldn't, and says:

"I—don't—know."

Wouldn't you know where you lost your arm?

"Davy," I says again, "does it hurt at the wound in your head?"

"Am I wounded in the head?" asks he.

"Yes," says I, "the day that—Jon died."

Dave nods and puts his hand to his head then, as if he really remembered.

"The—day—I killed—Jonathan!" he breathes, looking straight away at nothing at all. "My brother—Jonathan!"

Suddenly he starts up and hunts for his accoutrements.

"I must go. She's coming. Did you hear her singing?"

"Who?" asks I. "I hear no singing. Who?"

He didn't tell me who, but stops listening and sits down again.

"I always think I hear her coming. Even in 355