"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, he gradually unfolded to his uncle the incidents which had preceded his coming to Australia.
When Lewis Wynne became fully aware of his brother's deep-seated affection for him, and of the penitence and remorse which had darkened his life, he was filled with an impatient anxiety to return to the land of his birth and the brother whom he had loved so much. Indeed, before his acquaintance with his nephew, he had already begun to arrange his affairs with the intention of disposing of his property in Australia, for he had prospered in all his undertakings, and was now a wealthy man.