“Yes,” said Adams, “that is the road.”
“Do you see the skyline?” said Berselius.
“Well, my memory carries me to the skyline, but not beyond.”
“Oh, Lord!” said Adams to himself, “here he is beginning it all over again!”
“I can remember,” said Berselius, “everything that happened as far as my eye carries me. For instance, by that tree a mile away a porter fell down. He was very exhausted. And when we had passed that ridge near the skyline we saw two birds fighting; two bald-headed vultures——”
“That is so,” said Adams.
“But beyond the skyline,” said Berselius, suddenly becoming excited and clutching his companion’s arm, “I see nothing. I know nothing. All is mist—all is mist.”
“Yes, yes,” said the surgeon. “It’s only memory blindness. It will come back.”
“Ah, but will it? If I can get to the skyline and see the country beyond, and if I remember that, and if I go on and on, the way we came, and if I remember as I go, then, then, I will be saved. But if I get to that skyline and if I find that the mist stops me from seeing beyond, then I pray you kill me, for the agony of this thing is not to be borne.” Suddenly he ceased, and then, as if to some unseen person, he cried out—