Dare I still call you so? Can you ever forgive your wretched, miserable, erring, wicked husband for the great wrong he has done you? If you can, your charity exceeds that of angels.

You know, I presume as much concerning my trouble as I do myself. I know it happened, and I hardly know how. The association’s money was mixed with mine, and, as it was received at all times and in all places, was often forgotten or memorandums mislaid, and before I knew it I was a defaulter for, I supposed, $300 to $500. Then I grew desperate, trying in every way to redeem myself, (well, you know that business was next to nothing, and hoping and expecting by business and collections of debts owing me to come out all right.

The result I need not state. I dared not post my books, for exposure was then inevitable. So they were left.

The most cowardly act of my life I believe was leaving you the way I did. Yet when I left home in the morning I did not dream of it. It was an impulse of the moment, and I followed it. My intention was to commit suicide, and rid you and the world of such a worthless man, but I could not find it in my heart to commit the deed at home. I could not, so I left. Where I have been, Heaven knows – I do not! I know I have ridden and walked in Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, and Iowa, and I also know I have not eaten enough since I left for one meal, or slept enough for one night’s sleep. My body and mind have both been in a grand tumult, and this is the first time for days I have been able to recall your name and address.