"I had over-estimated my strength, and again relapsed. But this time I had my reason. Then it was that my sins stared me in the face. I was a murderer. Yes, though my hands had not shed blood except in battles, yet in the sight of God, aye, and in my own sight, I was a murderer. "But where were Imogen and my children? I had often asked this question, but had never been able to obtain a reply. I now determined to ask Mr. Percival; and taking advantage of an early visit, I put the question directly to him, 'Where is my wife?' "He shook his head mournfully. "'I cannot be kept longer in suspense,' I exclaimed. 'Do not fear it will injure me.' "'I shall probably be able to impart some knowledge of her at our next interview,' he replied, and soon took his leave. "When he bent over my head at parting, I saw his eye was moistened by a tear, and I loved him for sympathizing in my grief. "Oh, my son! my hand almost refuses to record the pang which was soon to seize my soul. During the days succeeding his visit, I arose from my bed, dispensed with the services of a physician, and yet my kind friend came not. I determined to wait no longer. Though hardly daring to hope that my injured wife would forgive me, yet I longed to throw myself at her feet, and sue for pardon. I called my servant and told him to send for the clergyman. "He replied, 'Mr. Percival is below, and will wait upon you.' "Something in the manner of the man alarmed me, and sinking back in my chair, under an apprehension of I knew not what, I impatiently awaited my visitor. He came in, kind and gentle as ever, and sat by my side. "'You promised,' said I eagerly, 'to tell me of my Imogen.' "'I have come for that purpose, my son,' and again he paused. "'Mr. Percival,' I said, catching hold of his hand, 'Have you no compassion?' "He put his handkerchief to his eyes. '_She is at rest!_' "I sprang from my chair, and stood before him, only half comprehending his meaning. 'Where?' I tried to articulate. "He pointed upward. * * * * * "I pass over the agony of that period. It was a long, _long_ time before I could be reconciled to life. I could not endure the thought of leaving the grave of my lost Imogen, and I sent my steward to England for our children. My sympathizing friend, Mr. Percival, had directed me where to find them. The steward returned with you, my son; but from that time to the present, I have never been able to find the least trace of the little Inez. She had started for England with her nurse to meet you, who were there with our friends, and though I caused the strictest enquiries to be made, and advertised in the papers for many months, yet nothing could be learned. She was probably wrecked in a vessel reported as lost at sea about that time.