He turned pale with excitement, and began to read. The paragraph ran as follows:--
Yesterday morning, at seven o'clock, the body of Mr. Septimus R.
Podgers, the eminent cheiromantist, was washed on shore at
Greenwich, just in front of the Ship Hotel. The unfortunate
gentleman had been missing for some days, and considerable anxiety
for his safety had been felt in cheiromantic circles. It is supposed
that he committed suicide under the influence of a temporary mental
derangement, caused by overwork, and a verdict to that effect was
returned this afternoon by the coroner's jury. Mr Podgers had just
completed an elaborate treatise on the subject of the Human Hand,
that will shortly be published when it will no doubt attract much
attention. The deceased was sixty-five years of age, and does not
seem to have left any relations.
Lord Arthur rushed out of the club with the paper still in his hand, to the immense amazement of the hall-porter, who tried in vain to stop him, and drove at once to Park Lane. Sybil saw him from the window, and something told her that he was the bearer of good news. She ran down to meet him, and, when she saw his face, she knew that all was well.
'My dear Sybil,' cried Lord Arthur, '-morroet us lbe married tow!'
