“I was all wrong, but I am older now--I have a girl of my own who has grown up and married--and I think I could understand better. I can imagine better, too, how you have suffered--how I have made you suffer--and now that there are times when my life seems clouded and unreal--some days and weeks even, when I look back I can hardly remember what I have said or done, or how I have lived--when I think of this, and think how my life seems to be slipping away from me, a little at a time, I feel that I just must come back to you. Of course, nothing can be undone, nothing can be lived over. I know that bitterly now--I feel it all the time, and especially at night when I lie awake and all these years come whirling up in my mind and confuse me and discourage me. But I have tried not to grow bitter. I have been hungry a good many times, and cold, and haven't had much to wear, but I have tried always to remember that the only way out is just the patient, honest way. “There may not be many years left to us, but wouldn't it be better to try to make them happy years? You see I'm writing as if I felt you had already forgiven me--I can't help it. “Elizabeth is married, as I told you, and hasn't room for me any more. But, George is not a bad boy--you will like George, father, I know. And perhaps he will grow up into something better than I and make you feel yet that it was worth while. “It is nineteen years to-day since you brought me down here on the old _Number One_--do you remember? I have never forgotten how you looked when you stood on the bridge and waved good-by. Well, my married life was not what I thought it would be, but somehow now, while I am writing this, it seems almost as if I could cut this long part of my life right out, and take up the first part again where I left it off that day. You will find me changed--I am getting to be quite an old woman--if all goes well, I may be a grandmother before the year is gone. Think of that! “Oh, father, I don't know what I am thinking of to be writing like this, when I ought to be down on my knees to you. But I can't help it. Can you forgive me, and let me begin again? “Jennie Craig.” Halloran gazed at the letter until the silence grew oppressive and then he looked out the window. Craig was still staring at the paperweight; and when he finally spoke it was without shifting his eyes. “She was only eighteen when she went down to Chicago to work for Bigelow. She didn't know any better--G. Hyde Bigelow wasn't above marrying his clerk in those days. And then she found him out and got a divorce; and I've never heard since, until to-day. I guess--I guess there's a little pride in our family--she's never written--and I haven't. But, oh, God! Mr. Halloran------” Halloran turned at the exclamation, and then, with such a sense of helplessness as he had never before known, he lowered his eyes. For the Captain was crying.