Thus precious days passed, and while Jacob gradually regained his strength, thought upon his daughter's wedding and hoped the event might be the beginning of a slow and patient re-winning of his wife, she was in reality won. Long years seemed already to drag between Margery and her home; while in her failing health, the life with her parents grew more and more distasteful and afflicting. She was conscious of the change in her physical circumstances—more conscious of it than her father, or mother; but she still believed that a return to Red House would restore her strength. A situation, simple in itself, was thus complicated. The man and wife wanted to come together—because each, in a solitary heart, felt that only so was life longer to be desired at all. An instinct of self-preservation called upon Margery to return and she felt that, otherwise, her fading life forces might not be much longer preserved. It was not desire for Jacob himself, but hunger for the healthy environment of home, that fortified her to get back to it. She had forgiven her cruel ignominies and now regarded them as she regarded her anæmia—as a sickness for which evil fortune had to be blamed. Jacob similarly had suffered from a dreadful sickness, and now he was cured. Thus nothing but religion stood between them to Margery's mind. She could pity Jacob in some moods, and see nothing wrong in her desire to return to him; while, in others, she still doubted, so far as he was concerned, but did not doubt for herself. Then the conviction increased that she must go back to Red House if she were ever to recover, and when she heard, through Auna and her own brother, that Jacob actually desired her to return, the last doubt vanished.
Bullstone's attitude resembled hers in intense desire; but he was ignorant of her dangerous health and postulated a gradual ordeal—an ordeal mercifully to end in her complete forgiveness and her subsequent return. Peace might yet await them; but he was now broken into a patience he had not known, a patience willing to leave the future in his wife's hands. But there stood between them and any such consummation the figure of Margery's mother, assured that her daughter's husband was lost; that he was a man who could represent nothing but danger to the community of the faithful—a man condemned to the consequences of his unequalled sin—one who, since wickedness is both contagious and infectious, must be avoided absolutely. To approach such a man or seek communion with him was to challenge a pestilence; and when, therefore, Judith had heard her child, in a mood of melting, say that a wife's place was beside her sick husband, she took alarm and girded herself to repel the danger.
Indeed, Margery became her chief care; she neglected lesser obligations and she devoted much time to planning her child's welfare. Upon the news of Bullstone's accident, she had hoped he would not recover and, for a time, suspected that Providence had chosen this way to put Margery out of danger. But now Jacob was well again and about to return home; Avis clamoured for her delayed nuptials, and Margery held that she might, on such an occasion, be present, both in church, and afterwards, at Red House, if only for a little while.
Her mother firmly withstood the suggestion, and by her strenuous opposition convinced Jacob's wife of one thing: that only through the road of secret flight would she ever return to her husband's home. She knew now that Judith held it a choice between heaven and hell; she realised that if she returned to Jacob, her parents would regard her as eternally lost. The thought had shaken her at first, but she found, on examining it, that her attitude to religion was modified before reality. None had influenced her to this, for those whom she met were of her mother's opinion, and opportunity did not offer to learn the views of other people; but life and its present crying needs began to change her outlook. She contrasted the things she had been called to suffer and the unspeakable torments shed upon her husband out of his own weakness, with the established convention of a loving, sleepless and watchful God, who desires mercy better than sacrifice, and is all powerful to establish that happiness on earth the craving for which He implants in His creatures.
She was no longer concerned for her soul, while her personal griefs served to show her mother's convictions in a new light. Thus, as her hold on existence grew more frail, she recoiled with increased revulsion from the dogmas of the Chosen Few. Mrs. Huxam had defeated her own object, as religious mothers are apt to do, and by drowning the wounded Margery in the billows of a melancholy and merciless faith, was indirectly responsible for creating a new vision, wherein failing nature still offered Margery some measure of promise. The very escape in spirit comforted her and she was more cheerful for a time; but she did not get stronger, save mentally, and her license of mind alarmed Mrs. Huxam, who read these symptoms in her own light. She felt that her daughter's unrest and doubt were the visible sign of an inward temptation, wholly to be expected at this crucial juncture in her affairs; and while obeying the doctor in matters of food and medicine, Judith believed that the vital encounter must be fought on other ground.
She was not as yet frightened for her child's life, but only concerned for her soul. She determined, once for all, that Margery should not go to the wedding of Avis. She now tried to wrest this matter away from Jacob, and even considered whether the ceremony might be arranged and hastened, while he was in hospital; but Barlow Huxam would not support her in this. He pointed out that to take such a step, which was possible enough, seeing that Avis and young Elvin were amenable to Judith, would be unwise and likely to create a measure of sympathy with Bullstone. For the postmaster had as yet by no means bated in his bitterness; he did not desire any weakening of public sentiment against his son-in-law. That such a weakening existed already caused him some astonishment; but his attitude promised presently to respond to a stimulus that would not have touched Judith, for a measure of humanity, from which Mrs. Huxam's sterner outlook escaped, leavened Barlow's opinions.
Thus at the crucial moment it stood, and then a first step was taken. On a day in November, Jacob Bullstone came home, and Avis and Auna and Peter met his carriage at the outer gates of Red House.
All, for different reasons, were glad that he should be back again, and Auna chronicled each little incident of his return, hoping that opportunity would occur to tell her mother about it. She hid her young heart, which throbbed painfully to see her father so lame. But he told them that was a smaller matter, which would mend yet, and, at worst, not prevent him from presently riding again.
Peter did not rest until his father had been to the kennels, where Jacob was glad to be. He gave his son praise, admired two new litters of puppies and spoke with George Middleweek. George had matter for entertainment, or so it seemed to himself.
"Old Barton Gill was poking about here yesterday week," he said. "He told me he expected to find everything wrong and that he wasn't disappointed. He thought the puppies were a terrible poor lot and better in the river than out of it; and he said the kennels didn't look so smart, by a very long way, as in his time. He took a very grave view of everything, and at last he reached a point when I said that, old though he was, I should feel called to break his neck if ever I catched him here again."