When I opened my eyes I found myself in a small, very comfortable cabin, lying in a bunk; and being alone, I had no knowledge of where I was, nor would my memory give me the slightest assistance. That every object my eye rested upon was unfamiliar, and that I was on board a ship, was all that I knew for certain. What puzzled me most was the jarring sound caused by the engines. I could not conceive what this meant nor what produced it; and the vessel being perfectly steady, it was not in my power to realize that I was being borne over the water. I closed my eyes and lay perfectly still, striving to master the past and inform myself of what had become of me; but so hopelessly muddled was my brain, that had some unseen person, by way of a joke, told me in a sepulchral voice that I was dead and apprehending the things about me only by means of my spirit, which had not yet had time to get out of my body, I should have believed him; though I don't say that I should not have been puzzled to reconcile my very keen appetite and thirst with my non-existent condition. In a few minutes the door of the cabin was opened and a jolly, red-faced man, wearing a Scotch cap, looked in. Seeing me with my eyes open, he came forward and exclaimed in a cheerful voice-- "All alive O! Staring about you full of wonderment! Nothing so good as curiosity in a sick man. Shows that the blood is flowing." He felt my pulse, and asked me if I knew who he was. I replied that I had never seen him before. "Well, that's not my fault," said he; "for I've been looking at you a pretty tidy while on and off since we hoisted you out of the brine. 'Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny; Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonnie; May ye ne'er want a stoup o' brany To clear your head!' Hungry?" "Very," said I. "Thirsty?" "Yes." "How do you feel in yourself?" "I have been trying to find out. I don't know. I forget who I am." "Raise your arm and try your muscles." "I can raise my arm," I said, doing so. "How's your memory?" "If you'll give me a hint or two, I'll see." He looked at me very earnestly and with much kindness in the expression of his jovial face, and debated some matter in his own mind. "I'll send you in some beef-tea," he said, "by a person who'll be able to do you more good than I can. But don't excite yourself. Converse calmly, and don't talk too much." So saying he went away. I lay quite still and my memory remained as helpless as though I had just been born. After an interval of about ten minutes the door was again opened and Mary came in. She closed the door and approached me, holding a cup of beef-tea in her hand, but however she had schooled herself to behave, her resolution forsook her; she put the cup down, threw her arms round my neck, and sobbed with her cheek against mine. With my recognition of her my memory returned to me.