April 22.--So bad is my head that I go to see the doctor. He speaks
of tinnitus, and gives me an inhaling apparatus that shall reach, he
says, the middle ear.

April 25.--The apparatus is of no use. The sound is now become like
the booming of a great church bell. It reminds me of the bell at St.
Lambart on that terrible day of last August.

April 26.--I could swear that it is the bell of St. Lambart that I
hear all the time. They rang it as the procession came out of the
church.

The man's writing, at first firm enough, begins to straggle unevenly
over the page at this point. The entries show that he became convinced
that he heard the bell of St. Lambart's Church ringing, though (as he
knew better than most men) there had been no bell and no church at St.
Lambart's since the summer of 1914. There was no village either--the
whole place was a rubbish-heap.

Then the unfortunate Karl Heinz was beset with other troubles.

May 2.--I fear I am becoming ill. To-day Joseph Kleist, who is next
to me in the trench, asked me why I jerked my head to the right so
constantly. I told him to hold his tongue; but this shows that I am
noticed. I keep fancying that there is something white just beyond
the range of my sight on the right hand.

May 3.--This whiteness is now quite clear, and in front of me. All
this day it has slowly passed before me. I asked Joseph Kleist if he
saw a piece of newspaper just beyond the trench. He stared at me