"No, no, no—I don't want to see him again. I've suffered enough."
Auna was very quiet for some time.
"You wouldn't like to come and see your lovely garden, if father promised to go up to Huntingdon for the day?" she asked. "Surely, mother, you'd like to see the dogs and your garden?"
"It's not my garden any more. I've got no garden. I've got nothing but you and Avis and the boys."
Auna tried again.
"How sorry must he feel, before you can forgive him enough to see him?" she asked.
"I have forgiven him. I wish I could make your little mind grasp it, Auna. I know father better than you do. I know how sorry he is; but sorrow can't undo what's done. Nothing could be gained if I saw father, and a great deal must be lost. There are others to think of. We are all in God's Hands. Now you ought to be trotting home."
"God's Hands are cold comfort if you won't see father," murmured the child. "I don't much like what I hear about God from Mr. Middleweek."
Margery reproved her.
"If you want to hear about God, go to your grandmother," she said, "and never listen to anybody else. You ought to know that well enough, Auna."