“Don’t you feel strong enough to come for a sail with us to-morrow?” asked Andy.
“I think so,” answered Paul. “Dr. Martin said I could go for a walk to-morrow.”
“Then we’ll arrange for a sail,” decided Frank. “It will do you lots of good.”
“But mind, no chasing after whales, dead or alive!” stipulated Mr. Racer, with a laugh.
“All right,” agreed his sons.
Paul soon afterward went to his room. A chamber on the ground floor, with a window opening into the garden had been fitted up for him, to save him the necessity of climbing up and down stairs. It was in this little chamber that, soon afterward, he went to bed, hoping against hope that he might awaken on the morrow with his memory restored.
It was about midnight when Frank, who was a light sleeper, was awakened suddenly by hearing a noise under his window. He occupied the room over Paul.
“I wonder if he’s sick?” he thought, as he arose softly. “Perhaps he is, and doesn’t want to call anyone. I’ll take a look I guess.”
Before going down, however, Frank stepped to his window, softly raised the screen, and looked out. As he did so he was startled by a shrill cry from the room below him. It was Paul’s voice, and the mysterious lad was crying:
“Get away! Leave me alone! What do you want of me again? Oh, why can’t you let me alone!”