"I hope mother is pretty well again, Auna?" he asked as they neared home, but Auna shook her head resolutely.
"Grandmother made me promise not to speak of mother. She said you wouldn't wish it; and I did promise, father."
"Then you must keep your promise," he answered. "I've done terrible things, Auna, but I'm punished for doing them, and I'm very sorry for doing them, and I hope in time everybody will forgive me."
"I forgive you," she said, "and I never, never will go away from you, so long as you want me."
She held his hand tightly and he guessed that the future had been considered.
"Home is home," he told her, and something in the phrase, striking upon thoughts which were hidden from her father, but belonged to her recent experiences, made the child begin to cry. He guessed that she knew of decisions as yet concealed from him, and that she cried rather for him than herself.
"Cheer up," he said. "There's all the future to try and put things right in, Auna. And you to help me—such a helpful treasure is to me always."
"Grandmother," she sobbed, and Jacob began to comprehend. He was still untutored and in no mood for delay. He devoted a great part of that night to writing to Mrs. Huxam, and next day sent a long letter to her by Avis. It was a letter into which he poured the full flood of his contrition. He confessed his error and the horrible ingredient of character that had vitiated life for him and Margery. He declared himself healed and purified, and implored that his wife's parents, from their Christian standpoint, would be merciful to the weak and not bar the door to a reconciliation in the future. He humiliated himself and felt no restraining pride to control his abasement. Finally he invited the Huxams to define the situation, that he might know if the time to come held any hope, and he explained that he left himself entirely in his wife's hands. Anything that she might direct and desire he would perform; he suggested leaving Red House for a time and absenting himself indefinitely should Margery wish to return home. He explained that the empty house at Huntingdon Warren was now rented by him, and that he would be very willing to go there at once and remain there for some months if the proposition commended itself to them. Thus he sought to be even with time by allowing Margery to plan it. He erred every way, but did no harm, because Avis brought his letter back unopened in the evening.
"Grandmother says I'm to tell you she don't want any letters from you, father," she said.
He took his bulky packet.