I did not break the thread of cogitation.

“Well,” continued Doctor Maybew, “he must leave this house, at all events.  I will run the risk of losing him no longer.  I will write this morning to the overseer.  Yet I should like to know—­really—­it may be, after all, the case.  Stukely, lad, look here.  What county is this?” he continued, placing his finger on the map.

Somerset was written in the corner of it, and accordingly I answered.

“Very well,” replied the doctor.  “Now, look here.  Read this.  What do these letters spell?”

He pointed to some small characters, which formed evidently the name of a village that stood upon the banks of a river of some magnitude.  I spelt them as he desired, and pronounced, certainly to my own surprise, the word—­“Belton.”

“Just so.  Well, what do you say to that?  I think I have hit it.  That’s the fellow’s home.  I never thought of that before, and I shouldn’t now, if I hadn’t had occasion for the road-book.  It was the first thing that caught my eye.  Now—­how can we find it out?”

“It is difficult!” said I.

“It is likely enough, you see.  What should bring him so far westward, if he hadn’t some object?  He was either wandering from or to his home, depend upon it, when the gypsies found him.  If Belton be his home, his frequent repetition of the word was natural enough.  Eh, don’t you see it?”

“Certainly,” said I.

“Very well; then, what’s to be done?”

“I cannot tell,” I answered.

The doctor rung the bell.

“Is Robin up yet?” he asked, when Williams came in to answer it.

“He is, sir.”

“And the man?”

“Both, sir.  They have just done breakfast.”

“Very well, Williams, you may go.  Now, follow me, Stukely,” continued the physician, the moment that the butler had departed.  “I’ll do it now.  I am a physiognomist, and I’ll tell you in the twinkling of an eye if we are right, You mark him well, and so will I.”  The doctor seized his map and road book, and before I could speak was out of the room.  When I overtook him, he had already reached the idiot, and dismissed Robin.

My friend commenced his operations by placing the map and book upon the table, and closely scanning the countenance of his patient, in order to detect and fix the smallest alteration of expression in the coming examination.  He might have spared himself the trouble.  The idiot had no eye for him.  When I appeared he ran to me, and manifested the most extravagant delight.  He grasped my hand, and drew me to his chair, and there detained me.  He did not introduce his treasure, but I could not fail to perceive that he intended to repeat the scene of the previous day, as soon as we were again alone.  I did not wish to afford him opportunity, and I gladly complied with the physician’s request when he called upon me to interrogate the idiot, in the terms he should employ.  He had already himself applied to the youth, but neither for himself nor his questions could he obtain the slightest notice.  The eye, the heart, and, such as it was, the mind of the idiot, were upon his sister’s friend.