Where the Path Breaks

The man in bed tried to answer. His voice came in a weak whisper. This surprised him, and made him ashamed. "Very--well," he heard himself say, as he had seemed to hear himself speak in the dream which was gone now, far away, out of reach.

"Good!" said the surgeon. "Can you tell me your name?"

The sick man thought for a moment, and the question went echoing through his brain as a voice calling one who is absent echoes through a deserted house. Knowledge of his helplessness brought a sense of physical 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 soone