It was the chamber of death. Don Juan Moraquitos lay upon the rich Persian carpet, his face toward the ground, and a pistol lying a few paces from his outstretched hand. A more ghastly sight had never been shone upon by the bright summer sun, whose beams stole into the apartment through the Venetian shutters, and illuminated the blood-stained floor, on which the suicide was stretched. Upon the table in the center of the room lay a letter addressed to Paul Crivelli. The ink of the superscription was still wet, though the hand which had fashioned the characters was now that of a corpse. Paul tore open the envelope, and read the words written within. The suicide's letter ran thus: "You have been told a secret, which my guilt has kept from you for thirteen years. I do not ask you to forgive me, for you know not, and you will never know, what you have to forgive; I go to seek mercy from a higher tribunal than those which meet on earth. I could not live to blush beneath the glance of my nephew. You love my poor Camillia: make her happy, and the spirit of him who has wronged you will bless you even in death. She will be as rich as yourself. If your love for the daughter can ever prompt you to think with less anger of the father's guilt, you will be showing mercy to the unhappy wretch who writes these lines. "JUAN MORAQUITOS." CHAPTER XXXII. THE DEAD RETURNED TO LIFE. Let us return to the moment at which Silas Craig received from the hands of William Bowen, his accomplice and tool, the document which he had fully believed to be destroyed. It is thus that the wicked are always deserted and betrayed by their allies. The old phrase, "Honor among thieves," is a false and delusive one. Among the dishonest there can be no honor. The same impulse which prompts them to cheat and deceive their victims, will, at another time, induce them to cheat each other. Thus it was with the unscrupulous overseer, William Bowen; so long as his employer had paid him for his silence he was content to suppress the guilty secret of the money which Silas had received from Philip Treverton, but on the first occasion of the attorney's refusing to supply him with funds, he was ready to turn round and betray him. It was with this view that he had contrived to substitute a blank sheet of paper, and to preserve the actual receipt written and signed by Silas Craig. The wealthy attorney, the pretended Christian, stood convicted a cheat and a swindler. Augustus Horton turned indignantly from his old ally. "Bear witness, Mr. Leslie, and you, Mortimer," he said, "that I did not know what this man was." Silas Craig gnashed his teeth in silence; then crushing the paper in his hand, he rose from his chair and looked about him.