It was nearly a year after the arrival of his first letter when
another epistle was received from the absent doctor. Bad news this
time--the worst of bad news. He had been stricken down by a terrible
malady at a most critical moment in his affairs, and the consequence
was that his interests had suffered irretrievably. He might call
himself, in short, a ruined man. He felt that his distress of mind,
together with the physical anguish of his disease, was more than he
could bear up against for many hours longer. It was hard for an old
man to die thus among strangers, far from his own hearthstone and the
gentle influences that clustered round it. But he should be consoled
in his last hour by the reflection that he had always maintained his
family liberally, and had tried to be a kind and indulgent husband and
father; and he hoped that his daughter, thus left alone in the world
without any earthly protector, would not wholly despair, but would
strive for his sake to bear up against adversity, and prove herself
worthy of the father who had lost his life in trying to serve her in
his old age. And so farewell! His eyes were now about to close for the
last time upon the scenes of this earth. Signed ELIAS HANCHETT, M.D.,
with the customary flourish beneath the name, as bravely executed as
if the writer might have twenty years of life ahead of him yet. But
stay! P.S. Would not his dear daughter, for whom he had sacrificed so
much, grant him one last little favor? He had not means enough left
out of the sad wreck of his fortune to procure him decent burial.
Would she not send him a small sum for that purpose? She might direct
it to his own address, for if he were gone it would be received by a
friend, who would apply it faithfully according to the directions he
should leave. "And now again farewell! And may we meet above!" Signed
ELIAS HANCHETT, M.D. Flourish as usual.

I do not believe that Dora Hanchett's honest estimate of this letter