"The name is entirely unnecessary," the voice responded. "From your card-case I see that your name is Heaton, and that you live in Essex Street, Strand." "Yes," I answered. "How long have you been blind?" the voice inquired, hoarse and deep. I knew that it was disguised by certain of the syllables being pronounced differently in various words. "For a year or more," I answered. "And does your head still pain you very much?" inquired the voice, while at the same moment I felt a cool hand placed upon my throbbing brow. In an instant I seized it by the wrist. The hand tried to wrench itself free, but not before I had felt the slimness of the fingers, the rings upon them, and the softness of the palm. It was a woman's. She had cleverly disguised her voice to cause me to believe that it was a man's. I placed my right hand upon her arm and felt it bare. Upon her wrist was a curious bracelet, thin but strangely pliable, evidently made of some ingeniously worked and twisted wire. The arm was bare; her skirts were of silk. My nurse was evidently in an evening toilette. "Although I cannot see you, madam, I thank you for your kind attention," I said, a trifle piqued that she should have endeavoured to mislead me by her voice. She drew her hand away quickly, with a slight cry, as though annoyed at my discovery. "I witnessed your accident," she explained simply, in a sweet, well-modulated voice, evidently her own. By her tone, she was no doubt young, and I wondered whether she were pretty. "How did it happen? Tell me," I urged. "You were crossing the road, and were knocked down by a cab. My doctor has already examined you, and says that you are not seriously hurt. It is a mere scalp-wound, therefore you may rest content, and congratulate yourself upon a very narrow escape." "I congratulate myself upon failing into the hands of a friend," I said. "Oh, it is really nothing!" exclaimed my unknown hostess. "In a few hours you will, no doubt, be all right. Rest, and in the morning the carriage shall take you home." "Then it is not yet morning?" I inquired, vaguely wondering what hour it might be. "No, not yet." The response sounded afar off, and I felt somehow that my strength was suddenly failing me. A heavy, drowsy feeling crept over me, and my mind seemed filled with conflicting thoughts, until I fell asleep, the cool, soft, sympathetic hand still upon my brow. When I awoke it was with a refreshed feeling. No one was, however, in my immediate vicinity. My kind protectress had left me, yet I heard voices in conversation in the adjoining room. The door communicating was closed, but there was the unmistakable pop of a champagne-cork and a jingling of thin glasses that told of festivity. In whose house, I wondered, was I a guest? Already I had inquired, but had been refused information. Suddenly the voices were hushed, and I could distinguish a woman saying--