“And now, child, I have a final confession to make to you. For many years there has been a side to my life of which you and Alice have been ignorant. Even now I am not going to tell you about it. The time is too short for me to enter thoroughly into my motives and into the gradual development of what was at first only a very small thing. But of this I am anxious to assure you, it is not a disgraceful side! It is not anything of which I am ashamed, although there have been potent reasons for keeping all record of it within my own breast. Had I known to what it was destined to grow I should have acted differently from the commencement, but of that it is purposeless now to speak. The little remnant of life which is still mine I have dedicated to it. Even if my career here were not so clearly over, my conscience tells me that I am doing right in abandoning it. It is possible that we may never meet again. Farewell! If what you hinted at last night comes really to pass it is good. Bruce Deville has been no friend of mine, but he is as worthy of you as any man could be. And above all, remember this, my fervent prayer: Forgive me the wrong which I have done you and the trouble which I have brought into your life. Think of me if you can only as your most affectionate father, Horace Ffolliot.” When I had finished my father’s letter I dressed in haste. There was no doubt in my mind as to where he had gone. I would follow him at once. I would be by his side wherever he was and in whatever condition when the end came. I rang for a time-table and looked out the morning trains for London. Then Alice knocked at my door and came to me with white, scared face, and an open letter in her hand. She found me all ready to start. “Do you understand it? What does it mean, Kate?” she asked, fearfully. “I do not know,” I answered. “He has gone to London, and he is not fit to leave his bed. I am going to follow him.” “But you do not know whereabouts to look. You will never find him.” “I must trust to fate,” I answered, desperately. “Somehow or other I shall find him. Goodbye. I have only a few minutes to catch the train.” She came to the door with me. “And you?” I asked, upon the step. “I shall remain here,” she answered, firmly. “I shall not leave until it is perfectly certain that this is not all some hideous mistake. I can’t realize it, Kate.” “Yes,” I cried, lingering impatiently upon the step. “Do you think that he is mad?” I shook my head. “I am certain that he is not,” I answered. “I will write to you; perhaps to-night. I may have news.”