I bent, fondly kissing her chilly lips, and striving vainly to staunch the ugly wound, until suddenly it struck me that the best course to pursue would be to at once remove her to my room; therefore we carefully raised her, and with difficulty succeeded in carrying her upstairs, and laying her upon my bed. My feeling in these moments I cannot analyse. For months, weary months, during which all desire for life had passed from me, I had sought her to gain her love, and now, just as I had done so, she was to be snatched from me by the foul, dastardly deed of some unknown assassin. The fact that while the electric lights were shedding their glow in every part of the building they were extinguished upon that small landing was in itself suspicious. Bryant referred to it, and I expressed a belief that the glass of the two little Swan lamps had been purposely broken by the assassin. At last after a long time the doctor came, a grey-haired old gentleman who bent across the bed, first looking into her face and then pushing back her hair, placed his hand upon her brow, and then upon her breast. Without replying to our eager questions, he calmly took out his pocket knife, and turning her upon her side, cut the cord of her corsets, and slit her bodice so that the tightness at the throat was relieved. Then, calling for a lamp and some water, he made a long and very careful examination of the wound. "Ah!" he exclaimed, apparently satisfied at last. "The attempt was a desperate one. The knife was aimed for her heart." "But will she die, doctor?" I cried. "Is the wound likely to be fatal?" "I really can't tell," he answered gravely. "It is a very serious injury--very. No ordinary knife could inflict such a wound. From the appearance of it I should be inclined to think that a long surgeon's knife was used." "But is there no hope?" I demanded. "Tell me the truth." "It is impossible at present to tell what complications may ensue," he responded. "The best course is to inform the police of the affair, and let them make inquiries. No doubt there has been a most deliberate attempt at murder. Your servant tells me," he added, "that the lady is a friend of yours." "Yes," I said; "I intend making her my wife; therefore you may imagine my intense anxiety in these terrible circumstances." "Of course," he replied, sympathetically. "But have you any suspicion of who perpetrated this villainous crime?" I thought of that thin, crafty, bony-faced scoundrel Hibbert, and then responded in the affirmative.