d don't talk."

But half an hour or more after, although he had taken this advice,
Fenwick remembered nothing, or professed to have remembered nothing.
He seemed, however, much more collected, and except on the
memory-point nearly normal.

When the doctor, looking at his watch, referred to his obligation to
keep another engagement, Fenwick rose, saying that he was now
perfectly well able to walk, and he would intrude no longer on his
hostesses' hospitality. This would have been perfectly reasonable, but
for one thing. It had come out that his pockets were empty, and he was
evidently quite without any definite plan as to what he should do
next, or where he should go. He was only anxious to relieve his new
friends of an encumbrance. He was evidently the sort of person on
whom the character sat ill; one who would always be most at ease when
shifting for himself; such a one as would reply to any doubt thrown on
his power of doing so, that he had been in many a worse plight than
this before. Yet you would hardly have classed him on that account as
an adventurer, because that term implies unscrupulousness in the way
one shifts for oneself. His face was a perfectly honourable one. It
was a face whose strength did not interfere with its refinement, and
there was a pleasant candour in the smile that covered it as he
finally made ready to depart with the doctor. He should never, he
said, know how to be grateful enough to madame and her daughter for
their kindness to him. But when pressed on the point of where he
intended to go, and how they should hear what had become of him, he
answered vaguely. He was undecided, but, of course, he would write and
tell them as they so kindly wished to hear of him. Would mademoiselle
give him the address written down?

They found themselves--at least, the doctor and Sally did--inferring,
from his refreshed manner and his confidence about departing, that his
memory was coming back, or would come back. It might have seemed
needless inquisitiveness to press him with further questions. They
left the point alone. After all, they had no more right to catechize
him about himself than if he had been knocked down by a cart outside
the door, and brought into the house unconscious--a thing which might
quite well have happened.

Mrs. Nightingale seemed very anxious he should not go away quite
unprovided with money. She asked Dr. Vereker to pass him on a loan
from her before he parted with him. He could