"I'm wanted by the police, I suppose," he muttered gloomily to himself; but this idea was soon dispelled when he read the last lines of the advertisement, which said that all information was to be given to O. M., The Nook, Marlow, Bucks. "It's Olive! Olive!" cried Adrian, throwing down the paper, "she wants to find out where I am and help me, God bless her; if I could only reveal myself to her--but it's impossible. Dr. Roversmire is a stranger to her, and if I told her what had taken place, she would look upon me as a madman. What am I to do?--God help me, what am I to do?" He walked up and down the room, plucking at his long grey beard as if he would tear from his young soul this mark of age. "She could never love me as I am now," he said, clasping his hands, "for that would be treachery to my memory, and this face is not the one to win any girl's love--did not Roversmire himself say that the woman he loved refused to return his passion?--stay! perhaps if I look through this desk I may find out the name of the woman he loved, and go and see her--something may come of it, though I dread even to hope that things will turn out well." Sitting down at the desk near a deep, wide window, he unlocked it with the key which was placed therein, and began to turn over the papers in the hope of finding some clue to the name of this girl, whose rejection of Roversmire's suit had indirectly led up to the catastrophe which had happened to himself. He was about an hour looking through the papers, but found nothing likely to lead to discovery, until at length he found a locked book, which he immediately guessed was the diary of Roversmire. "If it's anywhere, it will be in here," he said to himself, "but it's locked--I wonder where the key is--it's a very small hole, so the key must also be small. I don't think I've seen any key that size, and yet--ah!" with a sudden recollection, "it's on the watch chain." And so it was, a long slender golden key of Indian workmanship, with which Adrian easily unlocked the book, and was soon deep in the contents written in the small, clear handwriting of the doctor. For a long time he read steadily on, without finding what he was in search of. The entries principally related to the writer's life in India, the periods of his fasts, the statements of his feelings, the dates upon which he arrived at and departed from different places, and every now and then, wild rhapsodies, peculiarly Oriental in their poetic thought and imagery of the delights, ecstacies, and marvellous pleasures he had tasted of, when set free from his earthly body. Later on in the book, the doctor recorded his arrival in England, the disposition of his affairs with regard to money; the taking of his house at Hampstead, and the way in which he lived secluded from all men.