“‘Well, old fellow,’ said the visitor, as he took a seat near me and felt my pulse, ‘how do you come on this morning?’
“‘Better, I think,’ was my reply, ‘though I hardly know the nature of my disease. One thing is plain—I am quite feeble—my strength is all gone.’
“‘Ah, yes, no doubt you feel very weak; quite natural you should, after such an attack of brain fever. I thought you were going to make a die of it, in spite of my humble efforts to save you; but thanks to a vigorous constitution, which you very fortunately possessed, I have been able to pull you through. You will be all right again in a few days. I have ordered you some beef tea, which you must use freely, and by to-morrow I dare say you will be able to take more solid food. Let me look at your tongue. Ah, that’s all right. You won’t leave us yet a while.’
“‘Doctor,’ said I, ‘will you be so kind as to inform me if you know why I am imprisoned in this horrible dungeon?’
“‘Come, come, my dear fellow! you had better not talk about that unpleasant affair until you get more strength. By no means let your mind run on that subject. By the by, Debar, what lady is this you have been raving about all the time? Lottie! Lottie! Yes, I think that was the name. If you called her name once, you called it fifty thousand times within the last three weeks. The fact is, you talked as if she were present with you all the time.’
“‘She is a charming girl who resides in Memphis, Tennessee, and my betrothed bride.’
“‘Ha! ha! I say, your betrothed bride; but come, come, Debar, you had better keep quiet, I reckon; for I see your mind is not exactly right yet.’
“‘Why do you call me Debar? That is not my name. I am a physician by profession. My name is Edward Demar, and I never saw this jail until the night I came here three weeks ago.’
“‘Pshaw! Debar; I had been hoping that your mind was entirely restored, but I am sorry to find myself disappointed in that hope. Is this the picture of the young lady you call Lottie?’
“‘Yes.’