“An injury to the base of the brain, such as he has received, no matter how slight, might, in this instance, produce either insanity or partial loss of memory, which is almost as bad,” said the surgeon.  “It will soon be determined when consciousness, returns to him.”

This indeed proved to be the case.  Just as daylight broke Lester Armstrong opened his eyes, looking in amazement around the strange apartment in which he found himself.

A kindly-faced nurse bent over him, who, in answer to his look of inquiry, said: 

“You had a severe fall and hurt yourself last night and was brought to the hospital.  You are doing finely.  Can you remember anything about the incident?”

Lester looked up vacantly into the dark-gray eyes.  “I—­I was in a hurry to close my books at the office; that is all I recollect,” he murmured.

From documents found in his pockets, it was learned that he had some connection with the great dry goods house of Marsh & Co., and the senior member of the firm was notified.  Within an hour Mr. Marsh responded in person.  He was greatly distressed over the occurrence and took it deeply to heart.

“I think as much of that young man as if he were my own son.  Do everything in human power for him.  Let no pains be spared.  I will stand every expense,” he said, and then and there he also confided a startling secret to the surgeon.

“I am a lone man in this world, without one kindred tie on earth.  Some little time since I made my will.  I left every dollar I possessed on earth to my young cashier, Lester Armstrong, though he never even dreamed of such an existing state of affairs.  I never intended that he should know that I had made him my heir for perhaps years to come yet.”

“Lester Armstrong!” exclaimed the surgeon.  “Why, that is not the name he is entered here under, Mr. Marsh.  The friend who was with him did not call him that.”

“Then the friend who was with him evidently did not know him.  I identify him as my cashier, Lester Armstrong.”

The surgeon bowed courteously.

“I would also suggest no mention whatever of this affair be given to the newspapers,” continued the gentleman.  “They would make a sensational story out of it, and I detest notoriety.”

“Your wishes shall be respected, sir,” replied the surgeon, who had a great reverence for men of wealth.

His prediction proved quite correct.  When Lester Armstrong arose from that bed of sickness ten days later, his mind, although as bright and keen as ever on some subjects, on others was hopelessly clouded.  Even the slightest recollection of beautiful Faynie Fairfax, the little sweetheart whom he had loved better than his own life, was completely obliterated from his mind.  He did not even remember such a being had ever existed.

Another event had transpired on the eventful night of his injury.  The humble boarding house where he had made his home so many years, had been destroyed by fire, and the people had gone none knew whither.  This was indeed a trying blow to Lester, for the fire had completely wiped out all of his savings which he had kept in the little haircloth trunk in his room.  But, without a murmur, he took up the burden of life over again and went back to his work at his desk.