entirely failed to implant in your mind the treasure ’which neither moth nor rust can corrupt.’  I have done all that I could do, and in a short time I must lay my body in the grave, and leave you an orphan.  But you are in the hands, and under the protection, of a Father who is infinitely more able to take care of you than I have been.  Into His hands, with my ransomed spirit, I undoubtingly commit you.

“As I write this letter, I feel the hand of death upon me.  In a few short days, it may be only hours, I must go.  I am the less ready to bid you the everlasting adieu when I think of the dangers that may surround you.  In my last hours I am doomed to the torments of suspicion.  I pray God they may be groundless.  Perhaps they are only idle fancies, the dotings of an over-anxious father.  I feel, as the sands of life are fast ebbing out, that some great calamity is lowering over you.  I know not that a remark I accidentally overheard should thus haunt me; but it has roused my suspicions, and the presage of calamity will not depart from me.  I cannot, with the warning voice ever ringing in my mind, help taking steps to guard you against the worst that may befall you.

“My dear child, if I should disclose my suspicions, and they should prove unreasonable, I shall have done a grievous wrong to him I suspect.  Although you cannot save me from the misery of doubting in my last hour, you can save me from injuring another in your good opinion.  If I have wronged him, let the injury die with me.  If my suspicions are not groundless, I offer you the means of saving yourself from the calamity that impends.

     “Should any event occur after my death which deprives you of any of
     your inheritance, follow the directions I now give you.

“In the back of the lower drawer of the secretary you will find a secret aperture.  The back of the drawer is a thick board, upon which is screwed, on the lower side, a thin slat.  Take out the screws and remove the piece they secure, and the aperture will be seen.  It contains a sealed packet, the contents of which require no explanation.

“If nothing happens after my decease, and you peaceably obtain all your rights, burn the packet without opening it.  My unjust suspicions, then, cannot influence you, or injure the person to whom they refer.

     “This letter you will receive from Mr. Faxon, to whom I recommend
     you for counsel and consolation in every trial.

     “And now, my child, I must bid you farewell.  I feel my end
     approaching.  May God forever bless and preserve you!

     “Your dying father,

     “EDGAR DUMONT.”