Then, at last, came a declaration of his passion, and at the sight of the name of the woman he loved, Adrian Lancaster gave a low cry, and letting the book fall upon the floor, arose quickly to his feet. "Olive Maunders!" he whispered clutching his throat, "he loved Olive Maunders, and she never told me anything about him--oh, impossible--it cannot be true." It was true however, for on recovering his composure, and resuming the reading of the diary, he found the whole facts of the case, plainly set out. Dr. Roversmire had called at the town house of Sir John Maunders with a letter of introduction from a friend in India, and Sir John, having a leaning towards occult science, had been much taken up with the curious character of his guest. Roversmire saw Olive, fell in love with her, and recorded his impressions in a series of broken paragraphs, which were anything but pleasant reading to the fastidious mind of Adrian Lancaster, seeing that they were about the girl whom he intended to make his wife. ". . . . She is certainly a most beautiful woman, but it is not her outward form which attracts me, fair though it be as the lotus floating on the wave of the holy Ganges. The pure crystal of her body encloses the still purer flower of her soul, a soul which possesses strong masculine characteristics . . . . after the soulless women of the East, this discovery is to me a source of wonder and admiration. ". . . . I have observed her narrowly, and am still constant to my first opinion; with such a strong soul as she possesses, Olive might go through the ordeal with unshaken firmness of purpose, and be enabled to release her soul from this clinging vestment of clay . . . . I must explain as much as I can to her and see if she will make the attempt. ". . . . All in vain . . . . I have told her of my idea that she should marry me, that I should initiate her into those strange sciences of which the West knows nothing, and when she attains the mastery of the last great secret, we will float together, radiant spirits in infinite space. ". . . . It is quite useless, not even this destiny I offer her can gain her love! and why? Because it is given already to some brainless dandy of to-day called Adrian Lancaster . . . he is abroad now, and hence the mistake I made in thinking she was free--ah, it is unkind of Fate to thus mar the destiny of a fair strong soul by such a vulgar obstacle. ". . . . By means of my astral body, I have seen Mr. Adrian Lancaster, who is at Monte Carlo . . . . a handsome face certainly, but no brains, and if he has any, he never uses them . . he seems to me to lead a debauched life--ah, the pity that such a soiled soul should seek union with the stainless, spiritual part of Olive Maunders. It will be like fire and water coming together, and the mastery will be with the strongest.