senger
he recommended.

The morning was radiantly beautiful--the sparkling waves rose high on
tiptoe to kiss the still boisterous wind--the sunlight broke in a wide
smile of springtide glory over the world! With the burden of my agony
upon me--with the utter exhaustion of my overwrought nerves, I beheld
all things as in a feverish dream--the laughing light, the azure ripple
of waters--the receding line of my native shores--everything was
blurred, indistinct, and unreal to me, though my soul, Argus-eyed,
incessantly peered down, down into those darksome depths where SHE lay,
silent forever. For now I knew she was dead. Fate had killed her--not
I. All unrepentant as she was, triumphing in her treachery to the last,
even in her madness, still I would have saved her, though she strove to
murder me.

Yet it was well the stone had fallen--who knows!--if she had lived--I
strove not to think of her, and drawing the key of the vault from my
pocket, I let it drop with a sudden splash into the waves. All was
over--no one pursued me--no one inquired whither I went. I arrived at
Civita Vecchia unquestioned; from thence I travelled to Leghorn, where
I embarked on board a merchant trading vessel bound for South America.
Thus I lost myself to the world; thus I became, as it were, buried
alive for the second time. I am safely sepulchered in these wild woods,
and I seek no escape.

Wearing the guise of a rough settler, one who works in common with
others, hewing down tough parasites and poisonous undergrowths in order
to effect a clearing through these pathless solitudes, none can trace
in the strong stern man, with the care-worn face and white hair, any
resemblance to the once popular and wealthy Count Oliva, whose
disappearance, so strange and sudden, was for a time the talk of all
Italy. For, on one occasion when visiting the nearest town, I saw an
article in a newspaper, headed "Mysterious Occurrence in Naples," and I
read every word of it with a sensation of dull amusement.

From it I learned that the Count Oliva was advertised for. His abrupt
departure, together with that of his newly married wife, formerly
Contessa Romani, on the very night of their wedding, had created the
utmost excitement in the city. The landlord of the hotel where he
stayed was prosecuting inquiries--so was the count's former valet, one
Vincenzo Flamma. Any information would be gratefully received by the
police authorities. If within twelve months no new