know but you're entitled to it. At least,
I'm not the man to deny it to you."

This was the letter: --

"MY DEAR FRIEND, -- I hope you do not
think that all these months, when you have
been suffering so terribly, I have been think-
ing of other things! But I am sure you
know the truth. You know that I could
not send you word or come to see you, or
I would have done it. When I first heard of
what you had done, I saw it all as it hap-
pened, -- that dreadful scene, I mean, in the
saloon. I am sure I have imagined every-
thing just as it was. I begged papa to help
you, but he was very angry. You see,
papa was so peculiar. He thought more
of the appearances of things, perhaps, than
of facts. It infuriated him to think of me
as being concerned about you or with you.
I did not know he could be so angry, and
his anger did not die, but for days it cast
such a shadow over me that I used to wish
I was dead. Only I would not disobey him,
and now I am glad of that. We were in
France three months, and then, coming home,
papa died. It was on the voyage. I wish
he had asked me to forgive him, for then
I think I could have remembered him with