al disintegration, as if the marrow of his bones was melting.

"Never mind!" the shock-headed surgeon said, in a quiet, reassuring
tone. "It's all right. You'll remember by and by, when you're stronger.
Don't worry about yourself. I've performed an operation on you, which
is known as trepanning. That was some days ago. It has been a success.
But we will let you rest a while longer before we bother you with
questions. The only thing is, the sooner we learn your name the sooner
we can take steps to let your people hear that you're alive. It's a
long time since you were wounded: eight months. We couldn't operate on
your head till now. There were too many other things to mend about you!
_Somebody_ must be anxious. Go to sleep again when you've had your
food, and perhaps the past will all come back to your mind. But if it
doesn't, don't make an effort. That will do you harm."

The sick man expressed his thanks with the faint ghost of a smile. When
the nurse had fed him with warm liquid, which he drank through a tube
without lifting his bandaged head from the pillow, he closed his eyes
and tried to find his way into the dream again. But the door of the
dream was shut. He could see only the face of the girl. She alone
remained to him, as if she had lingered and found herself locked out
when the dream-door shut. She had no name, and he had none. But that
seemed to be of little importance. It was easy to obey the surgeon and
not make an effort. The difficult thing would have been to struggle
toward any end. He felt that to do so would shatter his brain. And as
he was very sure nobody cared what had become of him, there was no
need. Why he was so sure of this, he could not tell. But something
inside him, which remembered things _he_ had forgotten, was absolutely
sure.

How long his lethargy of mind and body lasted, he did not know. Days
faded grayly into nights, and nights brightened grayly into days.
Neither the surgeon nor the two nurses who had charge of him asked
further questions. He took no real interest in anything except the
effort to find his way back into the lost dream, which he could never
do; and sometimes even the beloved face was blotted out. But at last,
the objective began to dominate the subjective in the man. He gave a
little thought to his surroundings. He noticed his neighbors who
occupied the beds near him, and listened dully when they talked to the
nurses. They were all Germans. One day he asked the nurse