“What, crying, my boy? Tears are only for women; not for a brave boy like you.”
“I know it,” Paul said, wiping his eyes, “but you are so cruelly wronged. I know you must be, or you would not look so white. Oh, I hope the woman who has ruined your happiness will never see a happy day.”
“Hush, Paul,” said Scott quickly. “Sin brings its own reward, and remember that she was my wife. God help her, and bring her the happiness she is seeking. Please bring mother and June.”
Paul left the room and soon returned, accompanied by Mrs. Wilmer and June.
“What is it, my son?” Mrs. Wilmer asked, noticing the white, sad look on Scott’s face.
“Mother, please be seated and read this aloud, if you can, that June and Paul may know its contents.”
Mrs. Wilmer read the letter, which ran as follows:
“Scott: I am going away. I have learned, after a long time, that we both made a great mistake, and the best way to undo the wrong is to try to do justice to ourselves by finding companions more suitable to our natures. You will see for yourself that it was the one great mistake of our lives—at least of mine. I have found my affinity, and hope that some day you will be happier with yours than you ever were with Irene Mapleton. I suppose you will heap all sorts of abuse upon me for bringing disgrace upon the Wilmer name, as you no doubt will call it, but I could not live as we were, and that last cruel reprimand decided me. I am going to a heart that is filled with a deep and lasting 140 love. I suppose you will hardly have time to search for me, and I assure you it will be quite useless to do so, as nothing can induce me to return.
“Irene Mapleton.”
Mrs. Wilmer handed the letter to Scott, as in a trembling voice she said: