by the
sun. The western sky was marked by a thin reef of cloud; dull gold, it
momentarily brightened to burnished gold, and then to fire.

The sun touched the horizon. Ere one could say "Look!" he was half gone.
The blazing arc of his upper limb hung for a moment palpitating, then it
dwindled to a point, vanished, and a wave of twilight, like the shadow of
a wing, passed over the land.

As Berselius, leaning on the arm of his companion, turned, it was already
night.

The camp fire which the porters had lit was crackling, and Berselius,
helped by his friend, sat down with his back to the tree and his face
toward the fire.

"Are you better?" asked Adams, as he took a seat beside him and proceeded
to light a pipe.

"My head," said Berselius. As he spoke he put his hand to his head as a
person puts his hand to his forehead when he is dazed.

"Have you any pain?"

"No, no pain, but there is a mist."

"You can see all right?"

"Yes, yes, I can see. It is not my sight, but there is a mist--in my
head."

Adams guessed what he meant. The man's mind had been literally shaken up.
He knew, too, that thought and mental excitement were the worst things for
him.

"Don't think about it," said he. "It will pass. You have had a knock on
the head. Just lean back against the tree, for I want to dress the
wound."

He undid the bandage, fetched some water from the pool, which was now
clear, and set to work. The wound was healthy and seemed much less severe
than it had seemed the night before. The dent in the bone seemed quite
inconsiderable. The inner table of the skull might, after all, be not
injured. One thing was certain: whatever mischief the cortex of the brain
had suffered, the prime centres had escaped. Speech and movement were
perfect and thought was rational.

"There," said Adams, when he had finished his dressings and taken his
seat, "you are all right now. But don't talk or do any thinking. The mist,
as you call it, in your head will pass away."

"I can see," said Berselius; then he stopped, hesitated, and went on--"I
can see last night--I can see us all here by the camp fire, but beyond
that I cannot see, for a great white mist hides everything. And still"--he
burst out--"I seem to know everything hidden by that mist, but I can't
see, I can't see. What is this thing that has happened to me?"

"You know your name?"

"Yes, my name is Berselius, just as your name is Adams. My mind is clear,
my memory is clea