This was Ada's story, which I heard with emotions that can scarcely be imagined. Every word planted a hell in my heart. At length, toward nightfall, a knock was heard, and Ada hastened to the door. Presently I heard my husband's step in the entry, and then his voice,-- "Dearest,----" there was the sound of a kiss,--"I have got rid of that infamous woman, who killed her first husband, and have turned all my property into ready money. On Monday we start for Europe." He entered, and as he entered I glided behind the door. Thus his back was toward me, while his face was toward Ada, and his arms about her waist. "On Monday, dearest, we will be married, and then----" I was white with rage, but calm as death. Drawing the poniard, (which I had never parted with since I first procured it,) I advanced and struck him, once, twice, thrice, in the back. He never beheld me, but fell upon Ada's breast, bathed in blood. She uttered a shriek, but laying my hand upon her shoulder, I said, sternly,-- "Not a word! this villain seduced _my only sister_, as he would have seduced you!" I tore him from her arms, and laid him on the sofa; he was speechless; the blood flowed from his mouth and nostrils, but by his glance, I saw that he knew me. Ada, white as a shroud, tottered toward him. "Seducer of my sister, have we met at last?" I said aloud,--and then bending my face to his, and my bosom close to his breast, I whispered,-- "The _wicked woman_ who killed her first husband, gives you this,"--and in my rage buried the poniard in his heart. Ada fell fainting to the floor, and I hurried from the house. It was a dark night, enlivened only by the rays of the stars, but I gained the wood, washed the blood from my hands, and resumed my female attire. In less than an hour, I reached the depot at Kensington, entered the cars, and before twelve, crossed the threshold of my own home in New York. How I passed the night,--with what emotions of agony, remorse, jealousy,--matters not. And for three days afterward, as I awaited for the developments, I was many times near raving madness. The account of my husband's death filled the papers; and it was supposed that he had been killed by some unknown man, in revenge, for the seduction of a sister. My wild demeanor was attributed to natural grief at his untimely end. On the fourth day I had his body brought on from Philadelphia; and on the fifth, celebrated his funeral, following his corpse to the family vault, draped in widow's weeds, and blinded with tears of grief, or of--despair. Ada Bulmer I never saw again, but believe she died within a year of consumption or a broken heart. CHAPTER XI. MARION AND HERMAN BARNHURST.