“I would willingly do so.”
“You have had some knowledge of his writing?”
“I have. I have received many communications from him, know his writing well and am sure that he wrote this.”
“What does the letter say?”
“You can read it for yourself.”
Barnes handed him the letter.
It read:
“My Dear Child: A few hours ago I learned of your existence, and in seeking to make reparation for the wrong done you years ago do not waste any time in cold formality, but at once sit down to make my confession, ask your forgiveness, and offer you the home that should have been yours these many years past.
“That your mother is not with you I know, but whether because she is dead is knowledge not in my possession. If she has told you the history of her past, then you will understand and be able to read between the lines of the few words that I shall transmit to paper; if she has not told you of it, then I will do so fully when we meet. I would come to you personally, only I feel that I have so deeply wronged you that I have not the right to come into your presence until you shall know all the circumstances and accord me that privilege.
“In a fit of jealous rage, without foundation in reason, I drove your mother from me, and she took you with her. I wronged her cruelly, I confess, and I would not blame either you or her if I am denied forgiveness, and yet I cannot but feel that I am entitled to it, for if ever man repented an action I have repented that one, and have for years been searching for you both that I might be able to repair in part the harm I brought on you.