CHAPTER XIX
Forgiveness
When we entered, there sat the old woman on the farther side of the hearth, rocking herself to and fro. I hardly dared look up. Elsie’s face was composed and sweet. She gave me a shy tremulous smile, which went to my heart and humbled me dreadfully. My father took the stool on which Elsie had been sitting. When he had lowered himself upon it, his face was nearly on a level with that of the old woman, who took no notice of him, but kept rocking herself to and fro and moaning. He laid his hand on hers, which, old and withered and not very clean, lay on her knee.
“How do you find yourself to-night, Mrs. Gregson?” he asked.
“I’m an ill-used woman,” she replied with a groan, behaving as if it was my father who had maltreated her, and whose duty it was to make an apology for it.
“I am aware of what you mean, Mrs. Gregson. That is what brought me to inquire after you. I hope you are not seriously the worse for it.”
“I’m an ill-used woman,” she repeated. “Every man’s hand’s against me.”
“Well, I hardly think that,” said my father in a cheerful tone. “My hand’s not against you now.”