“MY DEAR HONOR,--For for the last time I may venture to call you so; I write you this letter to bid you a last farewell. A heavy blow has fallen on us all. My poor wife--I did love her, Honor, more than I ever thought--is dead. It was very sudden. She overheard words--I trust you may never know from whom--which must have made her think that I was false to her, for she fell down as one dead, poor girl, and never spoke again. All this grief and wretchedness, and the sight of poor Mr. Duberly’s misery, and knowing he must hate me soon, is more than I can bear, so I have resolved that after the funeral is over I will have an explanation--I mean, that I will confess everything--about the horse and my debts, and all my horrible deceptions to the poor old man; and after that, it is my intention to go abroad, to America or some distant country; and my best hope is that nobody will ever hear of me again. Writing, as I am, with the poor thing that I have killed so near me, there are but few words, Honor, that I can dare to say to you. One wish, one prayer, however, I _may_ breathe, and that prayer is, that you will go home to John. It is with the hope that you will do so, that I send you back your own innocent, simple notes, the only ones you ever wrote to me, and which, but for the help that they may be to you, I would never, _never_ have parted with. Send them to your husband, dear Honor. They will convince him, if he is ever so positive, that I was not a liar when I swore that you were pure as the angels of Heaven from the guilt of which he dared suspect you. And now, dear Honor, fare you well, and if in the days to come, when you are happy, as I pray you may be, you should ever think of these past wretched times again, let there be forgiveness in your heart for one whose crime towards you has been followed by a punishment almost too heavy to be borne.”