ket a leather pocket-book which he
flung across to Cardo.

"There, Cardo, is that yours?"

"Yes," he answered, carelessly taking the pocketbook and placing it in
his pocket.

"Come, you have disposed of it quickly; look at it again."

Cardo drew it out once more, and, looking at it more carefully, said:

"I do not remember where I dropped it; but I do remember being in a
hot, scorching atmosphere, and feeling a terrific blow on my head, and
then--nothing more but cloud and darkness, until I awoke here to light
and memory, though that sometimes fails me, for I cannot remember
exactly what happened before that day of burning heat."

"Well! the blow on your head and the loss of your pocket-book I can
explain, for to-day in the Eastlake Hospital, I was with a dying man,
who confessed that about a year and a half ago he was standing idly on
the docks, when he saw a gentleman suddenly struck on the back of his
head by the swinging arm of a huge crane, used for lifting heavy
weights to and from the shipping. The young man fell forward, his
pocket-book--that one I have just given you--fell out of his pocket,
and was pounced upon by the man who died to-day. That was you, Cardo
Wynne; you were struck down insensible by the iron bar, and while you
were quickly surrounded by a crowd and carried to the hospital, the man
escaped with your pocket-book. He returned it to me with great
penitence, having spent all your money, I am afraid; but your papers, I
think, are intact, and I see you have in it a letter of credit upon the
Bank of Australasia."

"Why, yes," said Cardo, "I remember coming to the harbour in a ship.
What was it called? The _Burrawalla_!" and as he fingered the papers
in the pocket-book, and came upon his father's signature, Meurig Wynne,
he became much excited, and hunted eagerly until he found a folded
paper, out of which he drew a long curl of golden hair.

"Valmai!" he said, "oh, Valmai, Valmai!" and dropping on to a seat, he
covered his face with his hands, and through his fingers trickled some
silent tears.

"I must forbid any more excitement for the present," said the doctor;
"let us go in to dinner."

And as they gathered round the table, Cardo took his seat next to his
uncle, with more cheerfulness and alacrity than usual.

The thread of memory, once awakened, never wholly slept again. Daily
and almost hourly memories of the past returned to him, and as he
gained bodily and mental strength, h