I was strongly agitated. Could it be possible that—But no. Ismar Thiusen was no uncommon name. In order fully to appreciate my surprise and incredulity, the reader must understand that Hulmar and I had accepted, as the most plausible explanation of the fact that my remembrances of that former existence ended so abruptly, the theory that that former life had ceased then and there, cut off by some sudden accident. But here was I confronted by evidence that seemed to show that I had lived for a quarter of a century, at least, after the date of my supposed decease. If this were indeed the case, my marriage had most probably taken place in this same church, for reasons well known to me. As for the date, the marriage of this youngest daughter afforded room for a fair guess, within narrow limits.
Overwhelmed by the possibility thus presented to my contemplation, I sat for some time irresolute. Would it not be better to leave the matter in doubt? But no! any certainty was preferable to this suspense. No longer with eager hope, but filled with a stubborn desire to learn the exact truth, I prosecuted my now distasteful task. Soon, too soon, I found what I sought. Yes: on a certain date in the year 1883, Ismar Thiusen married Edith Mary, only daughter of Ruthven Alston, of . The peculiarity of the names left no room for doubt. I was the ancestor of Reva Diotha.
I sat down, and tried to face my position, but in vain: my thoughts were in a whirl. Deuro found me sitting there. Shocked at my appearance, he earnestly expostulated with me on my excessive ardor in research. I did not feel in condition to argue the matter: so, though it
