“Here, in this very house! waiting, longing to see you! to ease your conscience of its burden, and tell you that she freely forgives everything!”
“Can she?” the trembling husband breathed in an awed tone.
“Come and see,” Geoffrey returned, and taking him by the arm, he led him toward the parlor where Margery was anxiously awaiting him, her patience nearly exhausted by the long delay.
Reaching the door Geoffrey opened it, pushed Jack inside the room, then shut the two in together.
“Jack!”
“Madge! my girl!”
The glad, fond cry of the wife, restored at last to her long-sought loved one, the pleading, repentant intonation of the erring husband, were the only sounds that he caught, as he turned away, and with tears in his eyes, went out alone into the quiet summer night leaving them in their joy.
Two hours later, Jack came to seek him, but he walked like a drunken man, weakly and unsteadily.
His unexpected happiness was almost more than he had strength to bear, and he seemed weak and shaken as if from a long illness; but on his rough and weather-beaten face there was a look of peace and joy that Geoffrey never forgot.
“Master Geoffrey,” he said, in an humble tone, though there was a ring of gratitude and gladness in it; “it’s all right at last, thank God! I’ll never say there ain’t a God again. I can face the whole world, now that my Madge lives and loves me the same as ever. I can breathe free once more, since I know her blood ain’t on my hands—oh! it’s too good a’most to be true!” he continued, drawing a long, full breath, “and bless ye, sir, all I’ve got in the world wouldn’t pay ye what I owe ye.”