Mr. Sandford seemed frozen to the threshold in speechless horror.  There was his debtor, free,—­the old account settled forever!  The pallid temples would throb no more; the mobile lips had trembled their last; the glancing, restless eyes had found a ghastly repose; the slender and shapely frame, bereft of its active tenant, was limp and unresisting.  What a moment for the two men, as they stood over the corpse of their victim!

Attracted by the unusual outcry, Mr. Danforth came hastily out of the office, and stood, as it were, transfixed at the sight of the dead.  The men who had brought down the body at last found words to tell their dismal story.

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!”