So Adrian, after his one glimpse of the woman he loved, left Paradise and returned with a heavy heart to his solitary existence at Hampstead. He had, it was true, promised to restore the lost sheep to the arms of the gentle shepherdess, but how this was to be done he did not know. There were two ways in which he could regain his identity, either that he should be killed in his present body by accident or that he should commit suicide. The former of these methods seemed unlikely to occur, as the number of people who meet with accidents is really very small, and as to the latter, although he was no coward yet he shrank with a vague dread from putting an end to his present existence. It was true that Roversmire had informed him, that his soul would return to its own tenement, but suppose he was wrong and the soul, powerless to enter its former habitation, should remain suspended like the coffin of Mahomet between heaven and earth? The last case would be worse than the first, and Adrian, in spite of what was at stake, could hardly be blamed for preferring his present condition, unsatisfactory as it was, to a possible chance of leaving the world altogether. One thing, however, he had learned by his visit to Marlow which gave him a feeling of satisfaction, and that was the certainty of Trevanna's recovery. He was at least guiltless of blood, and moreover the explanation of Trevanna exonerated him from any malicious intent, so that when his soul returned to its former body he would at least be in a position to hold up his head as he had been accustomed to do. The devotion displayed by Olive in defending his character had touched him deeply, and he was now anxious to recover his lost position and reward that devotion as it deserved. But, in spite of all his desires and the dreariness of his present position, he felt quite powerless to make a move in any direction. He wandered about the house, read a great deal, smoked occasionally, and sometimes went down to the secret chamber, where he found his body was still preserving a life-like appearance with no signs of decay or change. "Dentham," he said one day, anxious to find out what suspicions were harboured by his crafty servant, "are you quite sure you did not see that walking-stick I spoke about?" "Quite sure, sir," replied the valet promptly, "perhaps the gentleman took it away." "What gentleman?" asked Adrian sharply. "The gentleman that owned it, sir." "It belonged to me," said Adrian, looking keenly at him, "I told you that before." "Would you mind describing the stick to me again, sir," asked Dentham innocently. "An oaken staff with a golden band and initials." "Your own initials, sir, M.R.?" "No--A.L.--the stick was given to me by a friend and I did not get them altered." "Indeed, sir, I'm afraid I didn't see it." "Very well, you can go," said Adrian shortly, and as the door closed behind the man he muttered quickly: