What was Jack to answer? He himself knew not at first. More was wanted than the mere repetition of free pardon.
“Heretic as I am, sir, you will not believe me when I tell you, as a priest, that God accepts your penitence.”
“My heart tells me so already, at moments. But how know I that it does not lie?”
“Senor,” said Jack, “the best way to punish oneself for doing ill, seems to me to go and do good; and the best way to find out whether God means you well, is to find out whether He will help you to do well. If you have wronged Indians in time past, see whether you cannot right them now. If you can, you are safe. For the Lord will not send the devil's servants to do His work.”
The old man held down his head.
“Right the Indians? Alas! what is done, is done!”
“Not altogether, senor,” said Amyas, “as long as an Indian remains alive in New Granada.”
“Senor, shall I confess my weakness? A voice within me has bid me a hundred times go forth and labor, for those oppressed wretches, but I dare not obey. I dare not look them in the face. I should fancy that they knew my story; that the very birds upon the trees would reveal my crime, and bid them turn from me with horror.”
“Senor,” said Amyas, “these are but the sick fancies of a noble spirit, feeding on itself in solitude. You have but to try to conquer.”
“And look now,” said Jack, “if you dare not go forth to help the Indians, see now how God has brought the Indians to your own door. Oh, excellent sir—”