I stretched forth my hand, and to my surprise felt that I was not in a hospital bed, as I had at first believed, but upon a silken couch, with my head resting upon a soft satin pillow. The covering of the couch was of rich brocade in wide stripes, while the woodwork had a smoothness which caused me to believe that it was gilt. I raised my hand to my head, and found it bandaged with a handkerchief and some apparently improvised compresses.

Although I opened my eyes, all was, of course, an utter blank before me. Yet I felt instinctively, as every blind person does, the presence of some one in my immediate vicinity, and presently, after long reflection, I suddenly asked—

“Where am I? What has happened?”

“You have been run over, and your head is injured,” answered a strange harsh voice, hoarse and altogether curious. “But tell me. Your eyes have a curious look in them. Can’t you see?”

“No,” I responded. “Unfortunately I am totally blind.”

“Blind!” gasped the voice, in apparent amazement. “Then that accounts for your accident!”

“But where am I?” I inquired eagerly.

“You need not trouble, I assure you,” answered the voice, pleasantly. “You are with friends.”

“Then I am not in a hospital?”

“Certainly not. Having witnessed your accident, I am trying to do what little I can for you.”

The voice was low-pitched; and, further, it struck me as being disguised.

“May I not know the name of my good Samaritan?” I inquired.

“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.

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