There memory abruptly and inexplicably ceased.
He was beginning to torture his mind with conjecture, when the door opened, and to Don Diego's increasing mystification he beheld his best suit of clothes step into the cabin.

It was a singularly elegant and characteristically Spanish suit of black taffetas with silver lace that had been made for him a year ago in Cadiz, and he knew each detail of it so well that it was impossible he could now be mistaken.
The suit paused to close the door, then advanced towards the couch on which Don Diego was extended, and inside the suit came a tall, slender gentleman of about Don Diego's own height and shape.

Seeing the wide, startled eyes of the Spaniard upon him, the gentleman lengthened his stride.
"Awake, eh ?" said he in Spanish.
The recumbent man looked up bewildered into a pair of light-blue eyes that regarded him out of a tawny, sardonic face set in a cluster of black ringlets.

But he was too bewildered to make any answer.
The stranger's fingers touched the top of Don Diego's head, whereupon Don Diego winced and cried out in pain.
"Tender, eh ?" said the stranger.

He took Don Diego's wrist between thumb and second finger.