''I was told of it by Mr. Livermore.'
''Ah! 'tis he who sent you.'
''Alas! not so, madame.'
''Alas!—you say, alas! What do you mean? Have you ill news?'
''I have, indeed, madame.'
''Arthur is dead!' she cried. 'I know he is dead! But, tell me, I entreat you, tell me all. How—when did this happen?'
'I gave her a detailed account of Arthur's death, to which she listened with rapt attention.
''This opal-mine, like the Golden Fleece, brings misfortune to all who seek it,' she said, when I had finished, 'Poor Arthur! I loved him fondly, devotedly; and his image will live forever in my heart. But at such a crisis it is worse than folly—it is madness to waste time by giving way to grief. Reason teaches us to bow before the inevitable. It is idle to repine at the decrees of Fate. I am alone, now—alone, without a friend or a protector. No matter; I have a stout heart, and the mercy of Providence is above all. But to business: After the death of Mr. Livermore, what became of the papers?'
''I burned them before his death, in obedience to his injunctions.'
''You burned them! I will not believe it!' she exclaimed, in a loud voice, and with a penetrating glance.