I instinctively started to my feet with something of the vigour of my former health; repeating the question to myself; and feeling, as I unconsciously murmured aloud the few words which expressed it, that my life had purposes and duties, trials and achievements, which were yet to be fulfilled.  How could I instantly solve the momentous doubt which had now, for the first time, crossed my mind?

One moment I paused in eager consideration—­the next, I descended to the library.  A daily newspaper was kept there, filed for reference.  I might possibly decide the fatal question in a few moments by consulting it.  In my burning anxiety and impatience I could hardly handle the leaves or see the letters, as I tried to turn back to the right date—­the day (oh anguish of remembrance!) on which I was to have claimed Margaret Sherwin as my wife!

At last, I found the number I desired; but the closely-printed columns swam before me as I looked at them.  A glass of water stood on a table near me—­I dipped my handkerchief in it, and cooled my throbbing eyes.  The destiny of my future life might be decided by the discovery I was now about to make!

I locked the door to guard against all intrusion, and then returned to my task—­returned to my momentous search—­slowly tracing my way through the paper, paragraph by paragraph, column by column.

On the last page, and close to the end, I read these lines: 

“MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE.

“About one o’clock this morning, a gentleman was discovered lying on his face in the middle of the road, in Westwood Square, by the policeman on duty.  The unfortunate man was to all appearance dead.  He had fallen on a part of the road which had been recently macadamised; and his face, we are informed, is frightfully mutilated by contact with the granite.  The policeman conveyed him to the neighbouring hospital, where it was discovered that he was still alive, and the promptest attentions were immediately paid him.  We understand that the surgeon in attendance considers it absolutely impossible that he could have been injured as he was, except by having been violently thrown down on his face, either by a vehicle driven at a furious rate, or by a savage attack from some person or persons unknown.  In the latter case, robbery could not have been the motive; for the unfortunate man’s watch, purse, and ring were all found about him.  No cards of address or letters of any kind were discovered in his pockets, and his linen and handkerchief were only marked with the letter M. He was dressed in evening costume—­entirely in black.  After what has been already said about the injuries to his face, any recognisable personal description of him is, for the present, unfortunately out of the question.  We wait with much anxiety to gain some further insight into this mysterious affair, when the sufferer is restored to consciousness.  The last particulars which our reporter was able to collect at the hospital were, that the surgeon expected to save his patient’s life, and the sight of one of his eyes.  The sight of the other is understood to be entirely destroyed.”