Meanwhile, Holdsworth rested upon his pillow, casting eager and restless glances about the cabin, and at the skipper, and battling with an oblivion of the past as thick and as impenetrable as that mystery of being which the infant emerges from at its birth. “Tell me, sir, who I am--where I have been taken from!” he exclaimed, presently, looking with imploring eyes at the skipper. “Indeed, my man, I can’t tell you who you are,” replied the captain, wishing that Mr. Sherman would return, or that a squall would give him an excuse to withdraw. “All that I know is, we found you in a boat, and picked you up, and that the gentleman who has just gone out, saved your life.” “Strange!” muttered Holdsworth; “I remember nothing.” “Oh, it will all come if you give it time. Memory often leaves people after a bad illness, but returns again with the strength. Ech!” he cried, struck, as though for the first time, by the poor creature’s lean and hollow face. “But you have kenn’d some awfu’ times, man, since ye last stood upon honest shipboard. Sailoring, if you are a sailor, is a poor look-out when it comes to wanting bread and water.” The door opened and Mr. Sherman came in, followed by the steward bearing a dish of soup and some mild brandy and water, with which Mr. Sherman proceeded to feed Holdsworth. When as much of the soup as was thought good had been administered, Mr. Sherman bade his patient turn his back to the light and get some sleep. “I will, sir; thank you for your kindness,” returned Holdsworth, with affecting docility. “But, first, will you help me--will you help me to recall something--anything--to give my mind rest? I can see nothing for the darkness that is over me.” “I have told him that his memory will come back with his strength,” said Captain Duff. “Yes, have a little patience!” exclaimed Mr. Sherman. “We will get you on deck in a day or two, and when you see the boat we took you from your memory will return to you.” “Can you not tell me my name?” asked Holdsworth, with that striking expression of painful anxiety you may see on the face of a blind man deserted by his guide and totally at fault. “We will endeavour to find it out,” replied Mr. Sherman. “Come, captain, our friend must talk no more, or all our trouble to get him well will be of no use.” Holdsworth put out his hand with a smile of gratitude that softened and almost sweetened his miserable and skeleton-like face; then turned in his bunk and closed his eyes. “A strange thing to happen to a man,” said the captain to Mr. Sherman, as they went on deck. “I never could have believed that the memory of a creature could go out of his brain like that!”