Then I tried “Doctor Khay-me,” but failed.

I knew that I had said “Ki-me,” and had not thought “Khay-me.”

By an effort that made my head ache, I said “Doctor Ki-me,” and simultaneously reproduced “Doctor Khay-me” with letters before my brain.  It would not do.

Yet, though this double process had failed, I was not discouraged.  I thought of no other name.  Everything else had been definitely abandoned.  Without reasoning upon it I knew that the name was right, and I knew, as if by intuition, how to proceed to a conclusion.  I tried again, and knew beforehand that I should succeed.

This last time—­for, as I say, I knew it would be the last—­I did three things.

There was yet light.  I was lying in my place in the line, on top of the hill, a man five paces from me on either side.  I wrote “Doctor Khayme.”  I held the words before my eyes; I called the face of my dream before me; I said to the face, “Doctor Ki-me.”

XXXVII

A DOUBLE

“One of these men is genius to the other;
And so of these:  which is the natural man,
And which the spirit?  Who deciphers them?”

          
                                                                —­SHAKESPEARE.

The Doctor was before me.  I saw a woman by his side.  She was his daughter.  I know her name—­Lydia.

Where were they now?  Where were they ever?  Her face was full of sweetness and dignity—­yes, and care.  It would have been the face of my fancy, but for the look of care.

Unutterable yearning came upon me.  I could not see the trees on the bank of the river.

For an instant I had remained without motion, without breath.  Now I felt that I must move or die.

I rose and began to stamp my feet, which seemed asleep.  Peculiar physical sensations shot through my limbs.  I felt drunk, and leaned on my rifle.  My hands were one upon the other upon the muzzle, my chin resting on my hands, my eyes to the north star, seeing nothing.

Nothing?  Yes; beyond that nothing I saw a vision—­a vision of paradise.

The vision changed.  I saw two men in gray running across a bare hill; a shell burst over their heads; one threw up his hands violently, and fell.  The picture vanished.

Another picture was before me.  The man—­not the one who had fallen—­was making his painful way alone in the night; he went on and on until he was swallowed by the darkness.

Again he appeared to me.  He was sitting in a tent; an officer in blue uniform was showing him a map.  I could see the face of neither officer nor man; both were in blue.

Farther back into the past, seemingly, this man was pushed.  I saw him standing on a shore, with Dr. Khayme and Lydia.  I saw him sick in a tent, and Dr. Khayme by him—­yes, and Lydia.

Still further the scene shifts back.  I see the man in blue helping another man to walk.  They go down into a wood and hide themselves in a secret place.  I can see the spot; I know it; it is the place I saw at Manassas.  The man helps his companion.  The man breaks his gun.  The two go away.