It was a bitter truth. Had I been a poor man, Frances Glaive would never have become my wife. But when he said that it was a bargain between me and her father, I thrust him from the office, and shut the door in his face. Everything was clear to me now, and I looked with shame and mortification upon my childish folly; but I was justly punished for it. I made my arrangements for departure, for I resolved never to live with my wife again, never even to see her, for fear that her fair false face should turn my senses again. The news of my failure must soon become known, and I did not intend to remain a day after its announcement. I wrote a letter to my wife, telling her that I had discovered all, and that I could no longer live with her. I told her that I was ruined, and that I was going to London to bury myself in a locality where there was the least possibility of my becoming known, and that it was useless her seeking me or sending to me, after the shame and disgrace she had brought upon me. 'If,' I concluded, 'I could make you a free woman, so that you might marry the man you love, I would willingly lay down my life; but it cannot be done. The only and best reparation I can offer is to promise, as I do now most faithfully, to wipe you out of my heart, so that you may be free from me for ever.' I had some small store of money by me, half of which I enclosed in the letter. I knew that she was in no fear of want, and that she would find a home if she wanted it in her father's house. Before I left the town I went to see the woman I had befriended, and to bid her farewell; she was earning her living by needlework. I gave her some of the money I had left, and I might have been tempted to believe, if I could have believed in anything good, that she at least was grateful to me for the assistance I had rendered her. When I came out of the house in which she lived, I saw Mr. Glaive and Ralph, arm-in-arm, on the opposite side of the way. I avoided them, and the next morning I shook the dust from my feet, and started for London. I never saw them again. I came to this part of London, where there was the least chance of my being discovered; shortly afterwards I learnt that this business was for sale, and I found I had just sufficient money to purchase it. You know now, thus far, the leading incidents of my life, and that its crowning sorrow and bitterness arose from my senseless worship of a vain, frivolous, and beautiful woman. I have only a few words to add, and they refer to Jessie.