"Ask him, Stukely," began the doctor, "if he has ever been in Somerset?" I did so, and, in truth, the word roused from their long slumber, or we believed they did, recollections that argued well for the physician's theory. The idiot raised his brow, and smiled. The doctor referred to his map, and said, whispering as before, "Mention the river Parret." I could not doubt that the name had been familiar to the unhappy man. He strove to speak, and could not, but he nodded his head affirmatively and quickly, and the expression of his features corroborated the strong testimony. "Now--_Belton_?" added the doctor. I repeated the word, and then the agony of supplication which I had witnessed once before, was re-enacted, and the shrill and incoherent cries burst from his afflicted breast. "I am satisfied!" exclaimed the doctor, shutting his book. "He shall leave my house for Belton this very afternoon." And so he did, In an hour, arrangements were in progress for his departure, and I was his guardian and companion. Robin, as soon as Dr. Mayhew's intention was known, refused to have any thing more to say, either inside the house or out of it, to the _devil incarnate_, as he was pleased to call the miserable man. If his place depended upon his taking charge of him, he was ready to resign it. There was not another man whom the physician seemed disposed to trust, and in his difficulty he glanced at me. I understood his meaning. He proceeded to express his surprise and pleasure at finding an attachment so strong towards me on the part of the idiot. "It was remarkable," he said--"very! And what a pity it was that he hadn't cultivated the same regard for somebody else. A short journey _then_, to Somerset, would have been the easiest thing in the world. Nothing but to pop into the coach, to go to an inn on arriving in Belton, and to make enquiries, which, no doubt, would be satisfactorily answered in less than no time. Yes, really, it was a hundred pities!"