"Can't you keep him a while longer?" "I can keep him a few days only; I tell you there is nothing the matter with him. If I discharge him, what will he do? He ought to be attached--he must be attached, else he cannot even get food. It will all necessarily end in his being forced into the ranks of _some_ company, and I want to see him placed right." "I will not object to taking him if I can get him properly." "Somebody'll get him. Besides, we can't let him leave us before he has a place to go to. I think I have the right, in this miraculous contingency, as Aleck calls it, to hand him over to you, at least temporarily. Of course you can't keep him always. Sooner or later we'll hear of some regiment that is seeking such a man. His memory will return to him, so that he'll know where he belongs." "Yes--I suppose so. I am willing to receive him. When his company is found, of course I shall be compelled to let him go." "If provision is not made for him, he must suffer. I shall fear for him unless we can settle him in some way such as I propose. Am I not right, Aleck?" "Can't you keep him with you as some sort of help?" "I would not propose such a thing to him. There could be nothing here for him except a servant's place. He is my man, and I'm going to treat him better than that. By the way, I believe he is awake." My eyes were wide open. The doctor turned to me and said, "How do you feel now, Jones?" "Am I here yet?" I muttered. "Yes. Did you expect to be in two places at once?" "Where are the others?" "What others?" "The five men." "What five men?" "The five men on the pallets." "Oh!--been sent to the general hospital." "Yes," said I, mournfully; "everything that comes goes again." "Sound philosophy," said he; "you are getting strong and well. Don't bother your head about what happened last century or last year." He went to the door and called William. The negro man came. "Some soup," said the doctor. The soup was good. I felt better--almost strong. The doctor's friends sat by, saying nothing. The doctor smiled to see me take the soup somewhat greedily. "Talk to him, Captain," said the doctor. "My friend," said one of the men, "allow me to ask if you know where you are." "I know what I've been told," said I. "You must be good enough to believe it," said he; "you believe it or you doubt it. Do you still doubt it?" "Yes," I said boldly. "I can't blame you," said he. His voice was low and firm--a gentleman's voice; a voice to inspire confidence; a voice which I thought, vaguely, I had heard before. "Yet," he continued, "to doubt it you must be making some theory of your own; what is it, please?" He spoke with a slight lisp. I noticed it, and felt pleased that I had got to a stage in which, such a trifle was of any interest. "The only possible theories are that I am dreaming and--" "Be good enough to tell me another." He had not interrupted me; I had hesitated.