“In November, 1903, a few days before my second son was married, Harry came there. It was the 18th of November. I noticed a change in his conduct when he first entered the house. I had the habit of going to the door, and when I saw him it struck me that he looked absent-minded, as if he had lost interest in everything. The impression grew on me.
“He appeared to be laboring with a problem. He went to the drawing room and I heard the piano playing violently at first and then the tone grew softer and softer. This happened after he would come back, and after a while he would go to the drawing room and resume playing in the same way, first wildly and then softer and softer.
“But the most marked feature was his wakefulness at night. His room was next to mine and I would hear him sobbing. I would see a light under the door at three or four in the morning. I would go into his room and find him sitting up crying.
“I am not of a prying disposition, and I did not inquire into his trouble at once. He finally told me one night what the trouble was. He did not tell me definitely at first. He first said that it was something a wicked man in New York had done that had ruined his life. That was as much as I could get from him at first. He said the man was probably the worst in New York.
“On Thanksgiving I learned more. I did not ask the girl’s name. I learned from him one night what the wicked man had done to the young girl. I did not want to inquire any further.
“I told him that sort of thing happened in New York constantly and I asked, Why should that ruin your life? But he insisted it had.
“I tried to influence him the other way, to show him that it was not his place to look after the young girls.
“He said the girl had the most beautiful mind of any woman he had ever met and that if she had been under the influence of a good mother she would have been the best woman that ever lived. I cannot recall the entire conversation, but that is the substance of it.
“I only know that on Thanksgiving Day that incident occurred. It was the first Thanksgiving Day in our new church, and as it was very crowded. Harry and I had to stand under the gallery. I was glad afterward that we had to, as we heard the beautiful music.
“I heard a sob and when we drove home I asked Harry, ‘Why did you forget yourself in church?’ and he said it suddenly came over him—this dreadful thing. ‘If that dreadful thing had not happened,’ he said, ‘she could have been here with us.’”