would do more for such a condition than anything else. If he was
afraid of strangers, by all means keep them from him. Tembarom had
been quite right in letting him think he would help him to remember,
and that somehow he would in the end reach the place he had evidently
set out to go to. Nothing must be allowed to excite him. It was well
he had had money on his person and that he had fallen into friendly
hands. A city hospital would not have been likely to help him greatly.
The restraint of its necessary discipline might have alarmed him.

So long as he was persuaded that Tembarom was not going to desert him,
he was comparatively calm, though sunk in a piteous and tormented
melancholy. His worst hours were when he sat alone in the hall
bedroom, with his face buried in his hands. He would so sit without
moving or speaking, and Little Ann discovered that at these times he
was trying to remember. Sometimes he would suddenly rise and walk
about the little room, muttering, with woe in his eyes. Ann, who saw
how hard this was for him, found also that to attempt to check or
distract him was even worse. When, sitting in her father's room, which
was on the other side of the wall, she heard his fretted, hurried
pacing feet, her face lost its dimpled cheerfulness. She wondered if
her mother would not have discovered some way of clearing the black
cloud distracting his brain. Nothing would induce him to go down to
the boarders' dining-room for his meals, and the sight of a servant
alarmed him so that it was Ann who took him the scant food he would
eat. As the time of her return to England with her father drew near,
she wondered what Mr. Tembarom would do without her services. It was
she who suggested that they must have a name for him, and the name of
a part of Manchester had provided one. There was a place called
Strangeways, and one night when, in talking to her father, she
referred to it in Tembarom's presence, he suddenly seized upon it.