"If I were young I certainly would envy Charley Mulvany--but proceed." "Well, sir, I replied to him: 'Paul, dear,' said I, 'that was a kiss of friendship--and the reason of it was, that poor Charley was near crying when he heard that you were going to die and to leave me so lonely.' 'Well,' said he, 'that may be--many a thing may be that's not likely--and that may be one of them.

Go and get a prayer-book, and come back here.' Well, sir, I got a book and I went back.

'Now,' said he, 'if you swear by the contents of that book that you will never put a ring on man after my death, I'll leave you my property.' 'Ah, God pardon you, Paul, darling,' said I, 'for supposing that I'd ever dream of marrying again'-- and I couldn't help kissing him once more and crying over him when I heard what he said.

'Now,' said he, 'kiss the book, and swear that you'll never put a ring on man after my death, and I'll leave you every shilling I'm worth.' God knows it was a trying scene to a loving heart like mine--so I swore that I'd never put a ring on man after his death--and then he altered his will and left me the property on those conditions." "Proceed, madam," said the conjurer; "I am still in the dark as to the object of your visit." "Why, sir, it is to know--ahem--O, poor old Paul.

God forgive me! it was to know, sir, O--" "Don't cry, madam, don't cry." "It was to know, sir, if I could ever think of--of--you must know, sir, we had no family, and I would not wish that the property should die with me; to know if--if you think I could venture to marry again ?" "This," replied the conjurer, "is a matter of unusual importance and difficulty.