A few months of such unavailing work would soon extinguish hope. Both she and her brother desisted at last from their merciful endeavours in the full and final conviction that nothing but the hand of God could ever draw aside the black curtain that hung over Holdsworth’s past.
But not to dwell at needless length upon this part of the story:
More than four years had passed since Holdsworth had arrived in Sydney. Mr. Sherman had long learned to think of him as settled in the colony, had increased his salary, and congratulated himself not only on the possession of a valuable and trustworthy assistant, but upon a pleasant, amiable, and thoroughly gentlemanly companion. No expression of a wish to leave had ever escaped Holdsworth’s lips. He appeared not only contented, but resigned to the affliction that had practically deprived him of all knowledge of his past existence.
He came down to breakfast one morning with a face betokening great agitation. Mr. Sherman was in the breakfast-room, and instantly noticed Holdsworth’s air of bewilderment and distress.
“Mr. Sherman,” exclaimed Holdsworth at once to him, “do you remember telling me that it was possible for my memory to be revived by a dream?”
“Yes—has it happened?”
“I cannot tell; but this much I know, that a voice sounded last night in my ears, and bade me return at once to England. It was a woman’s voice—it had a clearly-remembered tone—and I knew it in my sleep; but when I awoke and tried to recall it I could not.”
“But your dream?”
“That was all.”
“Was your dream merely confined to the utterance of this voice?”