tions, was a vast, deadly pale devil with a face which 
was a blasphemy on Arthur’s. The evil joy of it was inde-
scribable. So wan and bloated, its lips so loose and 
bloodless; fold after fold of its belly flopping over the 
rostrum and pushing the students out of the hall, it 
leered unspeakably. Then dribbled from its mouth these 
words: “Ladies and gentlemen, the course is finished. 
You may go home.” I cannot hope even to suggest the 
wickedness and filth of these simple expressions. Then, 
raising its voice to a grating scream, it yelled: “White of 
egg! White of egg! White of egg!” again and again for 
twenty minutes.  
The effect on me was shocking. It was as if I had a 
vision of Hell.  
Arthur found me in a very hysterical condition, but 
soon soothed me. “Do you know,” he said at dinner, “I 
believe I have got a devilish bad chill?”  
It was the first time I had known him to complain of 
his health. In six years he had not had as much as a 
headache.  
I told him my “dream” when we were in bed, and he 
seemed unusually grave, as if he understood where I 
had failed in its interpretation. In the morning he was 
feverish; I made him stay in bed and sent for the doctor. 
The same afternoon I learnt that Arthur was seriously ill, 
had been ill, indeed, for months. The doctor called it 
Bright's disease.  
 
 
VIII 
 
I said “the last of the dreams.” For the next year we 
travelled, and tried various treatments. My powers re-
mained excellent, but I received none of the subcon-
scious horrors. With few fluctuations, he grew steadily 
worse; daily he became more listless, more indifferent, 
more depressed. Our experiments were necessarily cur-
tailed. Only one problem exercised him, the problem of