Two days later, Cousin Willie drove us over to Berry Pomeroy. The
lion of the place is the castle, of course; but Minnie had told him
beforehand I wanted, for reasons of my own, to visit the
cricket-field where the sports were held "the year Dr. Ivor won the
mile race, you remember." So we went there straight. As soon as we
entered, I recognised the field at once, and the pavilion, and the
woods, as being precisely the same as those presented in the
photograph. But I got no further than that. The captain of the
cricket-club was on the ground that day, and I managed to get into
conversation with him, and strolled off in the grounds. There I
showed him the photograph, and asked if he could identify the man
climbing over the wagon: but he said he couldn't recognise him.
Somebody or other from Torquay, perhaps; not a regular resident. The
figures were so small, and so difficult to make sure about. If I'd
leave him the photograph, perhaps--but at that I drew back, for I
didn't want anybody, least of all at Torquay, to know what quest I
was engaged upon.

We drove back, a merry party enough, in spite of my failure. Minnie
was always so jolly, and her mirth was contagious. She talked all
the way still of Dr. Ivor, half-teasing me. It was all very well my
pretending not to remember, she said; but why did I want to see the
cricket-field if it wasn't for that? Poor Courtenay! if only he
knew, how delighted he'd be to know he wasn't forgotten! For he
really took it to heart, my illness--she always called it my
illness, and so I suppose it was. From the day I lost my memory,