“A note from Mr. Folger,” said he, with a quick glance at Mr. Sylvester.
Mr. Stuyvesant took the paper handed him, read it hastily through, and looked up with an air of some bewilderment.
“I can hardly believe it possible,” cried he, “but Hopgood has absconded.”
“Hopgood absconded?”
“Yes; is not that the talk at the bank?” inquired Mr. Stuyvesant, turning to the messenger.
“Yes sir. He has not been seen since yesterday afternoon when he left before the bank was closed for the night. His wife says she thinks he meant to run away, for before going, he came into the room where she was, kissed her and then kissed the child; besides it seems that he took with him some of his clothes.”
“Humph! and I had as much confidence in that man—”
“As I have now,” came from Mr. Sylvester as the door closed upon the messenger. “If Hopgood has run away, it was from some generous but mistaken idea of sacrificing himself to the safety of another whom he may possibly believe guilty.”
“No,” rejoined Mr. Stuyvesant, “for here is a note from him that refutes that supposition. It is addressed to me and runs thus:
“Dear Sir.—I beg your pardon and that of Mr. Sylvester for leaving my duties in this abrupt manner. But I have betrayed my trust and am no longer worthy of confidence. I am a wretched man and find it impossible to face those who have believed in my honesty and discretion. If I can bring the money back, you shall see me again, but if not, be kind to my wife and little one, for the sake of the three years when I served the bank faithfully.
“John Hopgood.”