George Leicester now found himself at liberty to attend to his guest, and he spent almost the whole of his leisure time by the side of Walford's cot. For the first week after the arrival of the latter on board the _Aurora_ very little change or improvement could be detected in him; his mental faculties seemed to be almost paralysed; and he would lie in his cot for hours at a time, with wide-opened eyes, staring into vacancy, the blank, expressionless look upon his face betraying the utter inactivity of his mind. Then there would occur a short period, during which it seemed that memory was struggling to re-assert itself; he would glance vacantly round the cosy sleeping-cabin in which he found himself, a look of mild surprise would overspread his features, and he would pass his hand over his brow with the action of one who is trying to remember something; then would recur another vacant period. During all this time he never expressed a wish or uttered a single coherent word; only occasionally, when the memory was struggling to regain its seat, he would mutter a few incoherent words, that of "murder" being sometimes repeated, in low tones of suppressed horror, half-a-dozen times together. His appetite appeared to be good, since he ate and drank freely whatever was offered him; but if the food was withheld, as it sometimes was, by way of experiment, at Captain Leicester's order, he never asked for it, or evinced any surprise or uneasiness at its non-appearance. About the tenth day, however, after the one on which he had been picked up, George thought he detected signs of improvement. The periods of thinking were more frequent and more prolonged, and once during that day, when the skipper entered the cabin, Walford noticed the opening of the door, and, turning his eyes in that direction, regarded George for some moments with a steadfast inquiring look; but the recognition, if such there was, was momentary only, the hand was pressed meditatively to the forehead the next instant, and then the blank look returned. The next day witnessed a recurrence of the same symptoms, added to which there seemed to be a vague sort of semi-recognition of George's voice; for, whenever the latter spoke, Walford would look up with an anxious questioning glance, as though he had an idea that he had heard the voice before. Finally, on that same evening, when George and Mr Bowen were in the saloon together, chatting over the tea-table, the after-cabin door being open, so as to insure a current of air through the apartment, Walford, who had been asleep, suddenly started up in his cot with the exclamation-- "Surely that is Leicester's voice?" George heard the ejaculation, and, springing to his feet, stepped eagerly into the sleeping-cabin, saying-- "Of course it is, my dear fellow. How do you feel now? Better?" "Better?" repeated Walford. "I haven't been ill, have I? Where am I? How did I come here? And where did _you_ come from?"