ibe and localize
his symptoms, and I soon discovered that the disease was as yet in a
very early stage.

"You have a better grip of it than Lowry," he said, sighing with
satisfaction. "I feel as if I were made of glass, and you could look
through me. Can you cure me?"

"I will do my best," I answered.

"So you all say," he muttered, "and the best is generally good for
nothing. You see I care less about getting over it than my wife does.
She is very anxious for my recovery."

"Your wife!" I repeated, in utter surprise; "you are Richard Foster, I
believe?"

"Certainly," he replied.

"Does your wife know of your present illness?" I inquired.

"To be sure," he answered; "let me introduce you to Mrs. Richard
Foster."

The woman looked at me with flashing eyes and a mocking smile, while Mr.
Foster indulged himself with extorting a long and plaintive mew from the
poor cat on his knees.

"I cannot understand," I said. I did not know how to continue my speech.
Though they might choose to pass as husband and wife among strangers,
they could hardly expect to impose upon me.

"Ah! I see you do not," said Mr. Foster, with a visible sneer. "Olivia
is dead."

"Olivia dead!" I exclaimed.

I repeated the words mechanically, as if I could not make any meaning
out of them. Yet they had been spoken with such perfect deliberation and
certainty that there seemed to be no question about the fact. Mr.
Foster's glittering eyes dwelt delightedly upon my face.

"You were not aware of it?" he said, "I am afraid I have been too
sudden. Kate tells us you were in love with my first wife, and
sacrificed a most eligible match for her. Would it be too late to open
fresh negotiations with your cousin? You see I know all your family
history."

"When did Olivia die?" I inquired, though my tongue felt dry and
parched, and the room, with his fiendish face, was swimming giddily
before my eyes.

"When was it, Carry?" he asked, turning to his wife.

"We heard she was dead on the first of October," she answered. "You
married me the next day."

"Ah, yes!" he said; "Olivia had been dead to me for more than twelve
months and the moment I was free I married her, Dr. Martin. We could not
be married before, and there was no reason to wait longer. It was quite
legal."

"But what proof have you?" I asked, still incredulous, yet with a heart
so heavy that it could hardly rouse itself to hope.

"Carry, have you those letters?" said Richard Fost