Chicago, saying he had been
obliged to go to that city on business, and would be unavoidably
detained. He would like me to come to him, if it were not for fear of
my being too delicate to bear the journey. My parents would have been
quite unwilling also, for the promise of the days lay before me, and
with this new hope that it would not be so very long ere he would come,
I was again contentedly happy. The letters grew less frequent, and the
days grew long, and when September came my little girl came too, and how
I longed for her father to come.

"My parents telegraphed him of the event, saying also, 'Come, if
possible--Mary is in a fever of anxiety,' but he did not come; the
telegram was not replied to, and although dangerously ill, I lived. Now
the letters came no more, and I, still believing in his goodness, felt
sure that he was either sick or dead. My little Mabel lived one year.
Oh, how sweet she was! and one month after her death I received a letter
asking why I was so silent, telling me of great trouble and overwhelming
me with sorrow. I answered kindly, but my father was convinced by this
that he was a 'villain,' to use his own expression. The fact of his not
writing for so long, and then writing a letter almost of accusation
against me, made me feel fearful, and as I looked back on my suffering,
determined, if it were possible to some day know the truth. My answer to
the letter I speak of was received, and he again wrote, and this time
told me a pitiful tale of the loss by fire of all his artist
possessions, and his closing sentence was 'we may never meet again, for
in the grave I hope to find refuge from want. If you desire to answer
this, write 'without delay. It is hard to bear poverty and want.'

"I felt almost wild, and gave father the letter, hoping to receive a
generous donation from him, but my father said, 'Molly, darling, (that
is my name at home), the villain lies! no, no, pet, not a cent.' I cried
myself ill, and sent him my wedding ring, a diamond, his gift, since
which I have heard nothing.

"I told my father after it was gone, and if he had not loved me so much,
I should have felt the power of angry words. He was angry, but he
thought of all I had suffered, and he took me right up in his arms, and
cried over me. 'Mollie, darling, it is too bad; you have a woman's
heart. I would to God the man had never been born.

"I had a dear friend to whom I had confided all my sorrow--a Virginia
lady, ma