“Oh!” The exclamation spoke of intense relief.
“But you may thank Roger Hall for it.”
“Roger Hall!—what ado had he therewith?”
“If you ask at him,” answered Mr Roberts with a smile, “methinks he will scarce know.”
“Will he come again?” she asked fearfully—not alluding to Roger Hall.
“I wis not. Very like he will—maybe till he have consumed us. Grena, I know not how it hath been with you, but for me, I have been an arrant coward. God aiding me, I will be thus no longer, but will go forth in the strength of the Lord God. Believe you these lying wonders and deceitful doctrines? for I do not, and have never so done, though I have made believe to do it. I will make believe no longer. I will be a man, and no more a puppet, to be moved at the priest’s pleasure. Thank God, Pan is safe, and Gertrude is not like to fall in trouble. How say you? Go you with me, or keep you Gertrude’s company?”
Then Grena Holland broke down. All her little prim preciseness vanished, and the real woman she was came out of her shell and showed herself.
“O Tom!” she said, sobbing till she could hardly speak: for when restrained, self-contained natures like hers break down, they often do it utterly. “O Tom! God bless thee, and help me to keep by thee, and both of us to be faithful to the end! I too have sinned and done foolishly, and set evil ensample. Forgive me, my brother, and God forgive us both!”
Mr Roberts passed his arm round her, and gave her the kiss of peace.
“Methinks we had best forgive each the other, Grena; and I say Amen to thy ‘God forgive us both!’”