Among the newspaper cuttings was a report of the inquest, which my solicitor had attended, and evidence was given of Barbara's depraved habits, one witness stating that "she was drunk from night till morning, and from morning till night," a statement which Maxwell declared was a calumny. His sister had dreadful troubles; her married life was most unhappy, but she suffered in silence. His attempts to bring obloquy upon me were frustrated by my solicitor, and by the evidence of the doctors. The latter proved that she must have been a confirmed dipsomaniac for years; the former produced receipts for the allowance I made her. The verdict was in accordance with the evidence. After the funeral, the arrangements for which were made by my solicitor, Maxwell called upon him with a document purporting to be Barbara's will, in which she left everything to him, including the £300 a-year I had allowed her. Upon my solicitor suggesting that he should take legal steps to obtain what he called "his rights," he offered to compromise and to forego his claim for a stated sum. This being scouted, he asked whether it would not be worth my while to give him a smaller sum to get rid of him forever. My solicitor replied that that was a matter for my consideration upon my return home, but that he should advise me not to give him a shilling, and there the matter ended. My solicitor said he gathered from my letters that I had not prospered in the Colonies, that my presence at home was necessary for the settlement of my financial affairs, and that he enclosed me a draft for £200 to defray the expenses of my passage and outfit. Ellen's letter was of the usual affectionate nature, somewhat steadier in tone because of the tragedy which she had read in the papers. She expressed herself most pitifully towards Barbara, whose errors were expiated by her death. "She is now at peace, and I am sure you will have none but tender thoughts for her." Nobility of soul, in alliance with the tenderest feeling and the purest sentiments shone forth in every line. It softened my heart towards the dead; it made me solemnly grateful for the living. She said not a word about her position and my intentions. She trusted me and had faith in me. Conscious that I would do what it was right to do, she made not the most remote reference to our future. Our future! How brightly it spread before me! There was a new sweetness in the air, a fairer color in the skies. How strangely, how strangely are woe and joy commingled! Blessed with a good woman's love, with no fear of poverty before me, I would not have changed places with the highest in the world. The money I had capitalized to secure Barbara's allowance was now without a charge upon it, and reverted to me. The future was assured, the way was clear, the sun shone upon a flower-strewn path. Alas! the reality!