rong as it was, was imperfect. It did not
seem wrong, but deficient rather; something was needed to complete
it--what was that something?

Evening was drawing on. Again I thought of Khayyam, and I wondered why.
I vexed my brain to know why. Was it because Khayyam was a poet? No;
that could be no reason. Was it because he was a Persian? I could see no
connection there. Was it because of the peculiar spelling of the name?
It might be. What was the peculiarity? One of form, not sound. I must
think again of the written or printed name, not the sound only of
the word.

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 nothin