Signor Pagliadini evidently knew of the existence of the real Phil, and concluded, not unnaturally, that an unfair advantage was being taken of his helplessness. But why he should interest himself in the matter, and take Phil’s supposed quarrel upon himself, was a question which was hard to answer, and the only theory she could form was conclusively negatived by Tor. She suggested to him the doubt, whether it was possible that Philip Debenham had had a momentary return of consciousness, and had gained some vague idea of what was going on. Might he not (feeling himself helpless and injured) have believed himself to be a prisoner, and enlisted the aid of some able-bodied friend to go and discover the true state of the case, and do what he could for the absent master, who was being thus defrauded? But Tor smiled at such a notion. Phil and he understood one another far too well for such a doubt to be possible. Eighteen years of close friendship could stand a stronger test than this. If Phil had recovered enough to realize that Tor had changed their names, he would understand in a moment that there was some good reason for such an act, and would fall into the arrangement with the confiding placidity of his nature. Besides, the thing was impossible. The German doctor, who was the simplest-minded of men, had promised to give Tor immediate warning of any change in his friend’s condition. He and his sister were the only people who had been near Phil these three months past, until he had taken the journey; and he knew for certain that there had been no return to sensibility. The whole thing was too improbable to be seriously discussed. The idea that Phil could for a moment misunderstand him brought a smile to Tor’s face. ‘If you had seen the way the dear boy leaned on me, copied me, all but worshipped me, for eighteen years, you would know as well as I do, that he would be utterly incapable of mistrusting me, far less of setting a spy upon me. It was very absurd of him to make such a paragon of me; but he did it, and the traditions of years are not overset in a few days. Besides, I saw Phil a fortnight ago, and the poor fellow was just as senseless as a log. If my voice could not rouse him then, I’m convinced nothing else could do so within the next ten days. By the end of that time he was on the seas. I wish now that he were not.’ So that idea of Miss Marjory’s had to be abandoned, and she was puzzled to find a substitute. However, a puzzle was rather a pleasant form of amusement for Miss Marjory, and she enjoyed the sense of mystery which surrounded her. It was quite a novel form of entertainment.