he went away with another consignment added to his large stock of
disappointment. Finally all hope was apparently abandoned and even the
newspapers ceased to find you.

"Your father and mother now live in Chicago. George Witherspoon is one
of the great merchants of that city, and is more than a millionaire.
This is why I have so often told you that one day you would be worth
money. You were young and could afford to wait; I was old, and to me
the present was everything, and you were the present.

"For some time I have been threatened with sudden death; I have felt
it at night when you were asleep; and now I have written a confession
which for years I irresolutely put aside from day to day. I charge you
to bury me as Andrew Witherspoon, for in the grave I hope to be
myself, with nothing to hide. Write at once to your father, and after
settling up my affairs, which I urge you not to neglect, you can go to
him. In the commercial world a high place awaits you, and though I
have done you a great wrong, I hope that your recollection of my deep
love for you may soften your resentment and attune your young heart to
the sweet melody of forgiveness.

"ANDREW WITHERSPOON."

DeGolyer folded the paper, returned it to Henry and sat in silence.
He looked at the smoking lamp and listened to the barking of the
hungry dogs.

"What do you think, Hank?"

"I don't know what to think."