He had written:-- My dear brother,--I am very much concerned not to have heard from you for so long.

I have written to your old address in Montreal, but received no answer.
Here came the stop.

At last he put pen to paper and went on:-- Even though we have disagreed as to what occupation is best for you to follow, and also as to the degree of reserve that is desirable as to what our father did, you must surely know that there is nothing I desire more than your highest welfare.
After looking at this sentence for a little while he struck his pen through the word "highest," and then, offended with the appearance of the obliteration, he copied this much of the letter on a fresh sheet and again stopped.
When he continued, it was on the old sheet.

He made a rough copy of the letter--writing, crossing out, and rewriting.

It seemed that the task to which he had set himself was almost harder than could appear possible, for, as he became more absorbed in it, there was evidence of discomfort in his attitude, and although the room was not warm, the moisture on his forehead became visible in the strong light of the lamp above him.