They were at work on the upper floor, when they heard a noise in one of the adjoining rooms; as the apartment had been for some time unoccupied, they were naturally surprised. After a while all sounds ceased, and still no one came out to descend the stairs. Appalled by the silence, they broke open the door, and discovered Fletcher hanging by the neck from a coat-hook; a chair, overturned, had served as the scaffold from which he had stepped into eternity. They took him down, but life was already gone. A paper lay on his hat, with these words hastily pencilled on it:-- "On my desk is a letter that explains all. I'm off. Good-bye. "JOHN FLETCHER." Mr. Danforth, hearing this, instantly went into his office, and reappeared, reading a note addressed to him. Mr. Sandford, meanwhile, was striving to raise the wretched woman to her feet, and to lead her to the carriage. Mr. Bullion no longer whisked his defiant eyebrow, but stood downcast, silent, and conscience-stricken. "Listen a moment," said Mr. Danforth. "Here is a letter from our rash friend, and, as it concerns you, gentlemen, I will read it. But first, my dear Madam, let me help you into the carriage." The prostrate woman made no answer, save by a slow rolling of her body,--her sobs continuing without cessation. The letter was read:-- "MR. DANFORTH, "To make a payment for shares bought by Mr. Bullion, I borrowed ten thousand dollars from your house yesterday. Mr. Bullion has failed, and does not protect me. He escapes, and I am left in the trap. I charge him to pay my wife the notes he owes me. As he hopes to be saved, let him consider that a debt of honor. "But my death I lay at Sandford's door. He has followed me with a steady bay, like a bloodhound. His claim is now settled forever, as I told him. I don't ask God to forgive him;--I don't, and God won't. Let him live, the cold-blooded wretch that he is; one world or another would make no difference; for, to a devil like him, there is no heaven, no earth, nothing but hell. "My poor wife! See to her, if you have any pity for "JOHN FLETCHER." "Look," said Mr. Danforth, holding the letter under the stony eyes of Sandford,--"see where the tears blistered the paper!" All the while, Mrs. Fletcher kept up an inarticulate moaning, though the sound grew fainter from exhaustion. "Let us stop this," said Bullion, seeing the gathering crowd of passers-by. "Better be at home." Pointing to the still prostrate woman, he, with Mr. Danforth, gently raised her up and placed her in the carriage. She did not speak, but murmured pleadingly, while her face wore a look of agonized longing, and her outstretched hands clutched nervously. "Poor thing!" said Mr. Danforth, his voice beginning to tremble,--"she shall have her dead husband, if it is any comfort to her." "That's right," said Bullion,--"carry him off before half-a-dozen coroner-buzzards come to fight over him."