Ezra Jennings looked at me, with a sudden flash of interest in his
dreamy brown eyes.

"Mr. Candy's memory is beyond the reach of assistance," he said. "I have
tried to help it often enough since his recovery, to be able to speak
positively on that point."

This disappointed me; and I owned it.

"I confess you led me to hope for a less discouraging answer than that,"
I said.

Ezra Jennings smiled. "It may not, perhaps, be a final answer, Mr.
Blake. It may be possible to trace Mr. Candy's lost recollection,
without the necessity of appealing to Mr. Candy himself."

"Indeed? Is it an indiscretion, on my part, to ask how?"

"By no means. My only difficulty in answering your question, is the
difficulty of explaining myself. May I trust to your patience, if I
refer once more to Mr. Candy's illness: and if I speak of it this time
without sparing you certain professional details?"

"Pray go on! You have interested me already in hearing the details."

My eagerness seemed to amuse--perhaps, I might rather say, to please
him. He smiled again. We had by this time left the last houses in the
town behind us. Ezra Jennings stopped for a moment, and picked some wild
flowers from the hedge by the roadside. "How beautiful they are!" he
said, simply, showing his little nosegay to me. "And how few people in
England seem to admire them as they deserve!"

"You have not always been in England?" I said.

"No. I was born, and partly brought up, in one of our colonies. My
father was an Englishman; but my mother--We are straying away
from our subject, Mr. Blake; and it is my fault. The truth is, I have
associations with these modest little hedgeside flowers--It doesn't
matter; we were speaking of Mr. Candy. To Mr. Candy let us return."

Connecting the few words about himself which thus reluctantly escaped
him, with the melancholy view of life which led him to place the
conditions of human happiness in complete oblivion of the past, I
felt satisfied that the story which I had read in his face was, in two
particulars at least, the story that it really told. He had suffered as
few men suffer; and there was the mixture of some foreign race in his
English blood.

"You have heard, I dare say, of the original cause of Mr. Candy's
illness?" he resumed. "The night of Lady Verinder's dinner-party was a
night of heavy rain. My employer drove home through it in his gig, and
reached the house wetted to the skin. He found an urgent message fro