each case they pocketed the loss and held their tongues, and I dare say
they will not thank me for calling attention to the matter, even at
this distance of time.

There is not much more to tell. Marcus Weatherley, the forger, met his
fate within a few days after writing his letter from New York. He took
passage at New Bedford, Massachusetts, in a sailing vessel called the
_Petrel_ bound for Havana. The _Petrel_ sailed from port on the
12th of January, 1862, and went down in mid-ocean with all hands on the
23rd of the same month. She sank in full sight of the captain and crew
of the _City of Baltimore_ (Inman Line), but the hurricane
prevailing was such that the latter were unable to render any
assistance, or to save one of the ill-fated crew from the fury of the
waves.

At an early stage in the story I mentioned that the only fictitious
element should be the name of one of the characters introduced. The
name is that of Marcus Weatherley himself. The person whom I have so
designated really bore a different name--one that is still remembered
by scores of people in Toronto. He has paid the penalty of his
misdeeds, and I see nothing to be gained by perpetuating them in
connection with his own proper name. In all other particulars the
foregoing narrative is as true as a tolerably retentive memory has
enabled me to record it.

I don't propose to attempt any psychological explanation of the events
here recorded, for the very sufficient reason that only one explanation
is possible. The weird letter and its contents, as has been seen, do
not rest upon my testimony alone. With respect to my walk from the
station with Uncle Richard, and the communication made by him to me,