For the last time he swallowed hard.

His soul rose within him almost joyously now in the face of this last great fight, and he turned--John Aldous, the super-man.
There was no trace of fear in his face as he went to her.

He was even smiling in that ghostly glow of the lantern.
"It is hard work, Joanne." She did not seem to hear what he had said.

She was looking at his hands.
She held the lantern nearer.
"Your hands are bleeding, John!" It was the first time she had spoken his name like that, and he was thrilled by the calmness of her voice, the untrembling gentleness of her hand as it touched his hand.

From his bruised and bleeding flesh she raised her eyes to him, and they were no longer the dumb, horrified eyes he had gazed into fifteen minutes before.