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.