The name of Edith Darby conjured up in his mind a childhood playmate,—­a girl with towzled yellow curls and chubby, confiding little hands....  But these dim memory-pictures went no further:  there were no later visions of Edith as a young woman, blossoming with virgin beauty.  They stopped short, and he had a deep, compelling sense of grief.  The child, unquestionably a sister, had likely died in early years.  The third name of the three, MacLean’s College, called up no memories whatever.

“I can hardly say that I remember much about them,” he responded at last.  “I think they’ll come plainer, though, the more I think about them.  I just get the barest, vague ideas.”

“They’ll strengthen in time, I’m sure,” Forest told him.  “Put them out of your mind, for now.  Let it be blank.”  The alienist again leaned toward him, his eyes searching.  There ensued an instant’s pause, possessing a certain quality of suspense.  Then Forest spoke quickly, sharply. “Wolf Darby!”

In response a curious tremor passed over Ben’s frame, giving in some degree the effect of a violent start. “Wolf Darby,” he repeated hesitantly.  “Why do you call me that?”

“The very fact that you know the name refers to you, not some one else, shows that that blunted memory of yours has begun to function in some degree.  Now think.  What do you know about ‘Wolf’ Darby?”

Ben tried in vain to find an answer.  A whole world of meaning lingered just beyond the reach of his groping mind; but always it eluded him.  It was true, however, that the name gave him a certain sense of pleasure and pride, as if it had been used in compliment to some of his own traits.  Far away and long ago, men had called him “Wolf” Darby:  he felt that perhaps the name had carried far, through many sparsely settled districts.  But what had been the occasion for it he did not know.

He described these dim memory pictures; and Forest’s air of satisfaction seemed to imply that his own theories in regard to Ben’s case were receiving justification.  He appeared quite a little flushed, deeply intent, when he turned to the next feature of the examination.  He suddenly spoke quietly to old Ezra Melville; and the latter put a small, cardboard box into his hands.

“I want you to see what I have here,” Forest told Ben.  “They were your own possessions once—­you sent them yourself to Abner Darby, your late father—­and I want you to see if you remember them.”

Ben’s eyes fastened on the box; and the others saw a queer drawing of the lines of his face, a curious tightening and clasping of his fingers.  There was little doubt but that his subconsciousness had full cognizance of the contents of that box.  He was trembling slightly, too—­in excitement and expectation—­and Ezra Melville, suddenly standing erect, was trembling too.  The moment was charged with the uttermost suspense.

Evidently this was the climax in the examination.  Even McNamara, the Governor, was breathless with interest in his chair; Forest had the rapt look of a scientist in some engrossing experiment.  He opened the box, taking therefrom a roll of white cotton.  This he slowly unrolled, revealing two small, ribboned ornaments of gold or bronze.