rify, but there was often a good deal to terrify him when he awoke.

Many of them were quite innocent and as fatuous as dreams are wont to be,
but even these innocent dreams fretted the soul of the waking man, for in
every scrap and vestige of them he recognized the mind of that other
personality.

After the first few days, his intellect, so severe and logical, began to
lose its severity and logic, and to take up sides with his heart and to
cry aloud against the injustice of this persecution.

Why should he be haunted like this? He felt no trace of remorse now for
the past; the sense of injustice swallowed all that. Every day seemed to
drive that past further off, and to increase the sense of detachment from
that other man and his works; yet every night a hand, like the hand of
some remorseless chess player, put things back in their places.

With the falling of the curtain of sleep he became metamorphosed.

Then came the day when the evil he was suffering from declared itself in a
physical manner and Thenard was called in.

Thenard found his patient in bed. His mind was quite clear, but the pupils
of his eyes were unequal; there was numbness in the left arm and want of
grip in the hand. He had been prepared for the change evident in
Berselius's face and manner, for Maxine had told him in a few words of the
accident and loss of memory, and as he took his seat by the bedside he was
about to put some questions relative to the injury, when Berselius
forestalled him.

Berselius knew something about medicine. He guessed the truth about his
own case, and he gave a succinct account of the accident and the loss of
memory following it.

"This is due to the result of the injury, is it not?" said Berselius,
pointing to his left arm when he had finished.

"I am afraid so," said TThenard, who knew his patient, and that plain
speaking would be best.

"Some pressure?"

"So I imagine."

"Oh, don't be afraid of speaking out. I don't mind the worst. Will an
operation remove that pressure?"

"If, as I imagine, there is some pressure from the inner table of the
skull on the brain, it will."

"Well, now," said Berselius, "I want you to listen to me attentively; ever
since that accident, or, at least, since I regained memory, I have felt
that I am not the same man. Only in sleep do I become myself again--do you
understand me? I have quite different aims and objects; my feelings about
things are quite different; my past before