"MY DEAR HERBERT PENFOLD: It is difficult to answer such a letter
as yours--to say all one feels without saying too much; to express
the gratitude with which one is full, but of which one feels that
you do not desire the expression. First, a word as to the past.
Now that it is irreparable, why should I not speak freely? We were
the victims of a mistake! You were misled respecting me. I
foolishly resented the line you took, failed to make sufficient
allowances for your surroundings, and even doubted a love that
seemed to me to be so easily shaken. Thus my pride was, perhaps,
as much responsible for what happened as your too easy credence of
tales to my disadvantage. At any rate, believe me that I have
cherished no such feelings as those with which you credit me
toward you. Now that I know the truth, I can only regret that your
life has been, as you say, spoiled, by what can but be called a
fatal misunderstanding.

"Next, I must thank you, although you make no allusion to it in
your letter, for your kindness during past years. Of these,
believe me, I never suspected that you were the author; and I need
hardly say how deeply I have been touched at finding that the hand
to which I and my boy owe so much is that of Herbert Penfold. Of
this I will say no more. I leave you to picture my feelings and my
gratitude. Also, most warmly I thank you for your intentions
regarding my boy. He will be ready to come to you on Friday week.
I suppose his best way will be to go by coach to London and then
down to you, or he could take passage perhaps in a coaster. He is
very fond of the sea.

"We had settled that he should enter the army; but of course I