am still thinking of
the possibility that the Doctor controlled me, and caused me to lose the
past in order that thus he might not be accessory to a betrayal of his
own cause.

This view explains--but how can I grant the impossible? Yet how can I
place a limit to the power of mind? God is mind ... and if there is a
man on earth who can do such miracles, that man is Dr. Khayme.

But, another thought--why should the Doctor have been willing for me to
suffer so? If he knew that I should be hurt--and that I should endure
mortification--and be without friends--and long hopeless of all
good--why should he do me such injury? Would it not have been better for
me to remain in the Union army? I could not see any reason for his
subjecting me to so bitter an experience--but wait--did he not contend
that every human being must go through an infinity of experience? That
being true--or true to his thought--he might be just in causing me to
endure what I have endured.

Now the whole course of events, at least all since Bull Run, seems clear
if I can but know--or even believe--that any man has such superhuman
power. Can I believe it?

Again it is my time for vedette duty. I relieve Butler. Not long till
dawn, I think. Far to my left I hear sounds, as if an army is stirring.
My time will be short on post. Where was I? Yes; the supernatural power
of the Doctor.

What would the possession of such power imply? To see future events and
control them! Divine power? Yes, in degree, at least. But the mind, is
it not divine? I have seen the Doctor do marvellous things. That letter
of my father's was a mystery.... What! My father!

The sounds increase; the army is moving; the day is near.

I have a father? Who is my father?

The thought brings me to my feet.

I had been sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree. Far in front stretches
the dark valley of the Hedgeman River. Confused noises come from rear
and left. The vedettes will be withdrawn at once, no doubt, for the
march begins. Where is my father? Where he is there should I be also.
Suddenly light comes; I know that the letter was signed Jones Berwick,
Sr. From what place was it written? I do not know. But I know that my
father is the man in the tent where the Doctor attends me sick.

I make a step forward.

Owens, on my left a hundred yards, shouts, "Jones, come on; the line is
moving back; we are ordered back!"

I open my mouth to reply to him, but think better of it.

I unde