“On my way down here, a few days since, the steamer touched at Greenock. I was standing on the quay when a poor fellow, a passenger in a vessel just arrived, fell from the gangway, and was taken up insensible. I immediately bled him; and, seeing that he appeared to be seriously injured, I determined, as I had no other particular call upon my time, to remain beside him till he recovered. I had him carried to a small lodging in the neighbourhood, where he soon partially recovered; and, having prescribed for him, I left him, desiring that I might be sent for if any change took place. During the night he had a violent attack of fever. I was sent for; when I arrived, I found him delirious; he was raving about Cuba, and ships, and pirates, and fifty other things that immediately recalled you to my remembrance. When he came to his senses again—
“‘Doctor! tell me the truth,’ said he: ‘am I not dying?’
“‘No,’ replied I; ‘your present symptoms are favourable; everything depends upon your keeping your mind and body quiet.’
“‘Quiet mind!’ muttered he, with a bitter smile on his countenance. ‘It is not that I fear death, doctor; I think I could willingly depart in peace, if I had but been allowed time to find the person whom I came to Scotland in search of.’
“‘And who is that?’
“‘A fisherman at Rothesay.’
“He mentioned the name; but at this moment I forget it. Let me see—it was—ay, it was Ponsonby—Charles Ponsonby.”
Douglas started, and turned pale.
“Ponsonby!” exclaimed he; “that was my name, my father’s name! Who can he be? Perhaps some old shipmate of poor Harry’s. I will go directly and see him.” And he turned as if to depart.
“Gently, gently, my friend,” said I, detaining him; “I must go with you. When I left the poor fellow under the charge of a medical man at Greenock, he was greatly better; but he had received some severe internal injury, and he cannot live long. A sudden surprise might hasten his death. I must go with you to prevent accidents.”