on, blindly,
madly. On, on, running, stumbling, slipping upon the sodden earth,
tripping over projecting roots and rotting stumps.

His mind was a blank. He saw, but comprehended not; he felt, but the
sense had no meaning. He heard with clarion-like distinctness, but that
which he heard sang upon his ear-drums and penetrated no further. His
way was the way of the blindfold, his staring eyes beheld nothing real;
he saw the name of Aim-sa blazing in letters of fire before him, and a
hazy picture of her lovely face. All recollection of his loss had
suddenly passed from him, utterly blotted out of his thought as though
he had never known it. He knew not that he had ever had a brother whose
death had been the work of his own hand. The hut behind him might never
have existed, the forest about him might have been the open prairie, the
sodden ground a carpet of fine texture, the snow-covered clearings dusty
plains; he knew nothing, nothing. He moved, ran, walked; he was a living
organism without a governing power of mind.

Noon came. The silent forest looked down upon his frenzied progress. The
trees nodded gently in the breeze, whispering solemnly to each other in
their pitying tones. Owls watched him with staring, unmeaning eyes; deer
fled as he came rushing into the calm of their sylvan retreats. A
grizzly stood erect as he passed, meditating a protest at the strange
disturbance, but remained staring in amazement as the wild human figure
went by, oblivious and unheeding.

The afternoon saw him still struggling, but now wearily, and in a state
of collapse. His headlong course had taken the inevitable turn. He had
swung round in a great circle, and was heading again for the hillside
where the dugout stood. Now he often fell as he went, for his feet
lagged and caught in every unevenness of the ground. Once he lay where
he fell, and remained so long motionless that it seemed as if he would
rise no more. But as the afternoon waned and the evening shadows
gathered, there came the wild cries of the wolves from somewhere close
behind. Though he felt no fear of them, he staggered to his feet and
dragged wearily on towards the hut. It was the forest instinct obeyed
mechanically.

He came to the hut; he passed the door. Again it was habit that guided
him. He kept on, and went round to the door of the lean-to. It stood
wide open and he plunged within, and fell headlong upon his blankets.
Nor did he stir again; only there came the so