"I went giddy. He took my pocket-book; he took out the letters, and put it back to me again. Paul found it. I went to sleep in the sun." "When did Paul find it?" David Dundyke appeared unable to comprehend the "when." "In his cart," he said; "he found me too." "David, dear, try and recollect; did Paul take you to his cottage?" David looked puzzled, and then nodded his head several times, as if wishing to convince himself of the fact. "And I suppose you were ill there?" "I suppose I was ill there; they said so. Marie spoke English; she had been at--at--at sea." This was not very perspicuous, but Mrs. Dundyke did not care for minor details. "How did you come home?" she asked. And she glanced suddenly down at his boots; an idea presenting itself to her, that she might see them worn and travel-stained. But they were not. They were the same boots that he had on that last morning in Geneva, and they appeared to have been little worn. "How did I come home?" he repeated. "I came. Marie said I was well enough. Paul changed the note." "What note?" she asked. "The note from England. He didn't see that when he took the others." "He" evidently meant Mr. Hardcastle. She began to comprehend a little, and put her questions accordingly. "Mr. Hardcastle must have robbed you, David." "Mr. Hardcastle robbed me." She found he had a habit of repeating her words. She had noticed the same peculiarity before, in cases of decaying intellect. "The bank note that he did not find was the one you had written for over and above what you wanted. Why did you write for it, David?" This was a back question, and it took a great many others before David could answer. "He might have wanted to borrow more," he said at length; "I'd have lent him all then." Poor man! That he should have had such blind faith in Mr. Hardcastle as to send for money in case he should "want to borrow more!" Mrs. Dundyke had taken this view of the case from the first. "You don't believe in him now, David?" "I don't believe in him now. He has got my bank notes; and he left me in the sun. Paul, put me in the cart when it came by." "David, why did you not write to me?" David stared. "I came," he said. And she found afterwards, that he could not write; she was to find that he never attempted to write again. "Did you send to Geneva?--to me?" "To Geneva?--to me?" "To me--me, David; not to you. Did you send to Geneva?" He shook his head, evidently not knowing what she meant, and seemed to think. Mrs. Dundyke felt nearly sure that he must have lain long insensible, for weeks, perhaps months; that is, not sufficiently conscious to understand or remember; and that when he grew better, Geneva and its doings had faded from his remembrance. "How did you come home, David?" she asked again. "Did you come alone?" "Did you come alone--yes, in the diligences, and rail, and sea. I told them all to take me to England; Paul got the money for me; he took the note and brought it back."