It was with a sort of confused surprise, that, on recovering the consciousness of existence, I found myself alive at all. Instead, too, of battling for life amid a chaos of whirling waters, I found myself seated in a commodious arm-chair, in a dimly lighted apartment. With difficulty I rallied my scattered thoughts so far as to recognize the fact that I was in my own room.
An equally self-evident fact was, that some one had entered the room since I had fallen asleep, and had remained, too, for some time. The flickering wood-fire had been recently replenished with fuel. A strong scent of fragrant Havanas, a pile of white ash in the ash-receiver, indicated how the visitor, whoever he was, had passed his time. My eyes next lighted upon a letter lying beside the lamp, and, as I found, addressed to myself in a well-known handwriting. In some surprise I tore open the envelope, my wonder increasing as I read. It ran as follows:—
