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.