ether, for the false beard
he had worn the night before lay beside the clothes. But this terrible
earnestness of his would look strange in last night's disguise.

I opened the packet addressed to Hungerford and myself, and saw that it
contained a full and detailed account of his last meeting with his
wife. The personal letter was short. He said that his gratitude was
unspeakable, and now must be so for ever. He begged us not to let the
world know who he was, nor his relationship to Mrs. Falchion, unless she
wished it; he asked me to hand privately to her the packet bearing her
name. Lastly, he requested that the paper for the public be given to the
captain of the 'Fulvia'.

Going out into the passage, I found a steward, who hurriedly told me
that just before the alarm was given he had seen Boyd Madras going aft
in that strange costume, which he mistook for a dressing-gown, and he
had come to see if, by any chance, it was he who had gone overboard. I
told him that it was. He disappeared, and soon the whole ship knew it.
I went to the captain, gave him the letter, and told him only what was
necessary to tell. He was on the bridge, and was occupied with giving
directions, so he asked me the substance of the letter, and handed it
back to me, requesting me to make a copy of it soon and leave it in his
cabin. I then took all the papers to my cabin, and locked them up. I
give here the substance of the letter which was to be made public:

Because you know how much I have suffered physically while on board
this ship, and because you have been kind to me, I wish, through
you, to say my last word to the world: though, indeed, this may seem
a strange form for gratitude to take. Dying men, however, make few
apologies, and I shall make none. My existence, as you know, is an
uncertain quantity, and may be cut short at any moment in the
ordinary course of things. But I have no future in the active
concerns of life; no past on which to dwell with satisfaction; no
friends to mourn for my misfortunes in life, nor for my death,
whether it be peaceful or violent; therefore, I have fewer
compunctions in ending a mistaken career and a worthless life.

Some one will profit by my death: who it is matters not, for it is
no friend of mine. My death adjusts a balance, perhaps not nicely,
yet it does it. And this is all I have to say.... I am
going. Farewell....

After a brief farewell to me added,