"But you forget that your wife is still living, Farringford," added Mr. Lamar. "Her father is a wealthy man, and his large property, at no very distant day, will be divided among his three children."
"Very true; I did not think of that. I have so long been accustomed to regard her as lost to me that I did not think my boy still had a mother," answered my father, bitterly. "But when she sees him, she will not ask that any one should swear to his identity. She will know him, though eleven years have elapsed since she saw him."
"But where is she?" I asked, anxiously.
"I do not know, Philip."
"When did you see her last?"
"It is four or five years since we met."
"But haven't you heard from her?"
"Once, and only once. After she left me, and went back to her father, I tried to see her occasionally, for I have never lost my affection and respect for her. I annoyed Mr. Collingsby, her father, trying to obtain money of him. Three years ago the family moved away from St. Louis, partly, if not wholly, I know, to avoid me, and to take my wife away from the scene of all her misery."
"Where did they go?"
"To Chicago, where Mr. Collingsby was largely interested in railroad enterprises."