“Mrs. Georgia Clifton is no more.”
Major Clifton started back, and gazed at the speaker with an expression of deep concern, exclaiming—
“No! Impossible! How could that be? A woman in such fine health!”
“Death is always possible; at all times, and to all persons.”
“When, and where, and under what circumstances, did she die? I am very sorry.”
“She died a week since, at her house, in Richmond.”
“I am very sorry. The cause of her death?”
“One of those virulent summer fevers prevalent in the city just at this season. Her physicians think that hers was fatally aggravated by the life of excitement she had led, and by the friction of something that preyed upon her mind.”
Frank paused, and Major Clifton kept his eyes fixed with interest upon his countenance. Frank sighed, and resumed—
“A few days before her death, she sent for me. I went, and found her laboring under great mental distress. She seemed half disposed to make me a confidant; but after much painful hesitation, she reserved her secret, whatever it may have been, and drew from beneath her pillow this letter, which she gave me—exacting an oath, that after her death, and not before—I would hand it to you with the seal unbroken. She said that the whole future happiness of yourself and your wife, was concerned in your receiving it. And then, with many sighs and groans—for her eyes seemed too dry for tears—she let me depart. I never saw her again. A few days after that, I heard she was dead.”