hen the sailors came and rescued me, and I was brought here.
That seems like a few moments ago, but I presume at least a month must
have elapsed since or the ship could not have reached this port. What
month is this, January?"

"No, this is the month of March," replied she.

"March!" exclaimed I. "Great heavens, how the time has flown! Why, that
is about three months that I have known absolutely nothing. Let's see,
it was December 5th that I was thrown overboard, and it must have been
December 7th that Arletta died. That's right, December 7, 1881-I shall
always remember that date and keep it holy. It must be now March, 1882."

"Why, Mr. Convert, you are certainly dreaming," responded she, "this the
year 1903, not 1882. But how strange that you should get so mixed in the
dates-December 7, 1881, was the day I was born. That was over twenty-one
years ago, instead of three months, as you fancy."

At this juncture the red-whiskered individual came forward and said: "It
seems to be a hopeless case, Miss. He has talked in that same strain
ever since he came here. Perhaps after his fever abates somewhat he may
regain his equanimity, but to me it looks as if his mind will always be
unbalanced. He has a nasty scar right over the temporal region, which
portends ill for his future reason. Perhaps it would be better not to
talk to him any further at present. He is awfully weak, and appears more
excited than usual. You have evidently made some impression upon him,
however, and if you would visit him every few days he might eventually
be able to recognize you, which would have a strong tendency to set him
mentally straight again."

"Very well," said she, hesitatingly, as if not anxious to go. "May I
call and see him tomorrow, Doctor?"

"There are only three visiting days here each week, Miss; Sundays,
Wednesdays and Fridays, between the hours of three and four P. M. But
any time you call, if you will ask at the office for Doctor Savage, that
is my name, I shall consider it a pleasant duty to render you any
service within my power," replied he, looking at her with unsuppressed
admiration, of which she apparently took no notice. Then continuing, he
said, "Would you kindly give me your card that I may know your full name
in case you call at other times than the regular visiting hours?"

She opened her pocket book as if to take out a card, stopped and
reflected a moment, and then said, "Well, never mind my last name; just
remember