er.

She was away for a few minutes, while he leaned back again in his chair,
regarding nic with his half-closed, cruel eyes. I said nothing, and
resolved to betray no emotion. Olivia dead! my Olivia! I could not
believe it.

"Here are the proofs," said Mrs. Foster, reentering the room. She put
into my hand an ordinary certificate of death, signed by J. Jones, M.D.
It stated that the deceased, Olivia Foster, had died on September the
27th, of acute inflammation of the lungs. Accompanying this was a letter
written in a good handwriting, purporting to be from a clergyman or
minister, of what denomination it was not stated, who had attended
Olivia in her fatal illness. He said that she had desired him to keep
the place of her death and burial a secret, and to forward no more than
the official certificate of the former event. This letter was signed E.
Jones. No clew was given by either document as to the place where they
were written.

"Are you not satisfied?" asked Foster.

"No," I replied; "how is it, if Olivia is dead, that you have not taken
possession of her property?"

"A shrewd question," he said, jeeringly. "Why am I in these cursed poor
lodgings? Why am I as poor as Job, when there are twenty thousand pounds
of my wife's estate lying unclaimed? My sweet, angelic Olivia left no
will, or none in my favor, you may be sure; and by her father's will, if
she dies intestate or without children, his property goes to build
almshouses, or some confounded nonsense, in Melbourne. All she bequeaths
to me is this ring, which I gave to her on our wedding-day, curse her!"

He held out his hand, on the little finger of which shone a diamond,
which might, as far as I knew, be the one I had once seen in Olivia's
possession.

"Perhaps you do not know," he continued, "that it was on this very
point, the making of her will, or securing her property to me in some
way, that my wife took offence and ran away from me. Carry was just a
little too hard upon her, and I was away in Paris. But consider, I
expected to be left penniless, just as you see me left, and Carry was
determined to prevent it."

"Then you are sure of her death?" I said.

"So sure," he replied, calmly, "that we were married the next day.
Olivia's letter to me, as well as those papers, was conclusive of her
identity. Will you like to see it?"

Mrs. Foster gave me a slip of paper, on which were written a few lines.
The words looked faint, and grew paler as I read