Yes: the rain has ceased. And I know the dreaded Threshold which it has barred from me. Doctor Stein is going away, and the rain has passed, and soon I shall be _within_. My shoulders shuddered as if already a swart world clapped them.... Doctor Stein placed his hands upon them, and looked at me in silence. “Son,” he said, after the pause--and I could hear my memory of the rain, so deep did I fear this quiet. “Son, what’s the matter?” My face broke. I yearned to bury it in his hands: I managed to smile. “I don’t know ... yet.” “I like you, Mark. I believe in you. I wish I could help.” My gratitude was in my eyes. But something else was there, so that I dared not show my gratitude. “It is mysterious to me,” I smiled. “I seem to have lost my unity.” “You are in trouble ... and you talk metaphysics.” “Oh, if my trouble were some fact!” The cry of my voice impressed him. I went on: “You are so intact, so _one_; how can you heal me? You cannot touch my pain. Even my own mind cannot touch it. My mind, too, like all the words I can speak, is in the world of one: and the horror is, that part of my soul seems to have left that world.” “But you have your mind, John: draw yourself back into the sanity of its control.” “Oh, if I could----” “The other way is dissolution.” “Dissolution of a lie, perhaps.” “Dissolution of your personality, of your integrity.” “Man’s unity perhaps is nothing, and the laws and logic of it: if he is but a fragment.” “I can’t follow you, John. I have never seen broken this unity of matter. I come always nearer to it, the more I see.” “What could your mind and your eyes behold beyond themselves? What fragment, feeling over its own domain, could judge itself other than the whole?” “Sick,” he whispered to himself. And in silence, he watched me. The room was gray: the light of the lamp came horizontal to his eyes that watched me. We were still. I felt the silence that the rain had left. Then something within his eyes that had searched mine, quailed. A subtle tremor went through all his body, as if in fear it yearned to be away. He was in anguish of an impalpable instinct, shuddering him off, and that shamed him. He held his ground. But his eyes were veiled with a wistful helplessness. --Why don’t you go? I thought. I knew he stayed because he would not give in to the shudder that shamed him: and because he wanted to understand that shudder. He held out his hand. I took it, cold and removed. All his body was cold. Only his eyes were warm, and in them I saw a look kin to what I had seen in the eyes of Mrs. Landsdowne. Doctor Stein and she ... how could their eyes have kinship?--They have seen one thing! Two words as different as themselves are different. But they have seen one thing! “Will _you_ tell me,” said my eyes, “before you go, what you have seen?” But he had no word for it. A gray muteness spread upon his face, from which his eyes stared out.