"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 Foster. 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.