“Yes, it wouldn’t be an ill wind for Purling and Melissa, that’s a fact,” said Pompilard. “The chances stand thus: If the mother died the last of the three, the property comes to you as her nearest heir. If the child died last, at least half, and perhaps all the property, must come to you. If the child died first (which is most probable), and then the father and the mother, or the mother and the father, still the property comes to you. If the father died first, then the child, and then the mother, the property comes to you. But if the mother died first, then the child, and then the father, the money all goes to Mrs. Charlton, by virtue of her kinship as aunt and nearest relative to Mr. Berwick. So you see the chances are largely in your favor. If the report is true that the family are all lost, I would bet fifteen thousand to five that you inherit the property. I shall go to the city to-morrow, and perhaps by that time we shall have further particulars.” Pompilard then plunged anew into his novel, and the wife returned to her task of trimming a bonnet, intended as a wedding present to a girl who had once been in her service, and who was now to occupy one of the houses opposite. The next day, Pompilard, fresh, juvenile, and debonair, descended from the Harlem cars at Chambers Street, and strolled down Broadway, swinging his cane, and humming the Druidical chorus from Norma. Encountering Charlton walking in the same direction, he joined him with a “Good morning.” Charlton turned, and, seeing Pompilard jubilant, drew from the spectacle an augury unfavorable to his own prospects. “Has the old fellow had private advices?” thought he. Pompilard spoke of the opera, of Maretzek, the Dusseldorf gallery, and the Rochester rappings. At length Charlton interposed with an allusion to the great steamboat disaster. Pompilard seemed to dodge the subject; and this drove Charlton to the direct interrogatory, “Have you had any information in addition to what the newspapers give?” “O nothing,—that is, nothing of consequence,” said Pompilard. “Did you hear Grisi last night?” “It appears,” resumed Charlton, “that your wife’s niece, Mrs. Berwick, was killed outright, that the child was subsequently drowned, and that Mr. Berwick survived till the next day at noon.” “Nothing more likely!” replied Pompilard, who had not yet seen the morning papers. “Do you know any of the survivors?” asked Charlton, “I haven’t examined the list yet,” said Pompilard. And they parted at the head of Fulton Street. Charlton built his hopes largely on the fact that Colonel Delancy Hyde was among the survivors. If, fortunately, the Colonel’s memory should serve him the right way, he might turn out a very useful witness. At any rate, he (Charlton) would communicate with him by letter forthwith. In one of the reports in the Memphis Avalanche, telegraphed to the morning papers, was the following extract:—