I was in a bed! As my thoughts became clearer I lay
perfectly still, almost in fear that any movement I might make would
awaken me from this beautiful dream.

A long, long time ago something frightful had happened from which
rescue was impossible. Yet, surely this was a bed.

Then I remembered the attack which had taken place over my body while
I lay out in No Man's Land; of the shells which had burst around me in
violent protest to my presence. I could not possibly have escaped; I
must be maimed.

Cautiously I began to feel my limbs, my arms, my body, my feet, my
fingers; they were all there, untouched. The whole truth dawned upon
me: My God! I was alive!

I sat up in my bed; I wanted to shout and dance for joy. There was a
bandage round my head: I was blind! Yes, I knew that, but there was
nothing really the matter with me except that. The mere fact of being
only blind seemed in comparison a luxury.

I was blind! But joy indescribable--what was that triviality--I was
alive! alive!

Oh, my! I never knew before that life was so wonderful. Did other
people understand what life was? No; you must be dead to understand
what life was worth. I must tell every one how wonderful it all is.

But where was I? I could hear no guns--a bed? There were no beds at
the front. I couldn't have dreamed it all; it must have been true;
otherwise I should have been able to see.

Where then could I be? Oh, God! Yes, I know--I am a prisoner of war!

But even this knowledge, which for the moment quieted me, could not
suppress my exaltation. I was saved! I was alive! No pain racked my
limbs; no terror prodded my brain.

But I was weak and wasted. Oh, how weak I was! How hungry! But what of
that, I was alive!

And where was England--such a long, long way off. I must go there at
once, this minute. No, I can't; I'm a prisoner.

How miserable some people are who have no right to be. They cannot
know how wonderful life is. Oh, how wonderful it is to die, and then
to come to life again.

I'm only blind! Just imagine it! What is that?--it's nothing at all,
compared with life; and when I get well and strong I won't be a blind
man.

I may not recover my sight, but that doesn't matter a bit, I will
laugh at it, defy it. I will carry on as usual; I will overcome it and
live the life that has been given back to me.

I will be happy, happier than ever. I'm in a bed alive. Oh, God! I am
grateful!

CHAPTER XXII

BLINDNESS

Ho