"A day when falsehood may be told, but when truth is revealed," Florence replied. "It is one of God's days."
"All days are His, my dear."
Florence slowly shook her head. "No, not all."
The Judge came in. He put his arms about Mrs. Elbridge. "Rachel," he said, "you shall never see my face gloomy again. I will go laughing down into green old age, into the very moss of time." He motioned toward the office. "In there is a beautiful picture of sweet distress."
Mrs. Elbridge looked upon him with a trembling lip. "But, my dear, it is not more beautiful than the fact that you sent for your son and that you yourself have come back to us all."
The Judge smiled. Florence could see that he was growing stronger, that his mind was clearing. "He returns like a lost child suddenly finding the path home," she said.
"Faith has its wisdom and its reward," replied the Judge, looking at her. "In the days of the New Testament, you would have been one of the followers. You would have wiped His feet with your hair." And, looking at his watch, he added: "I wonder why William doesn't come back."
"It is not time," Mrs. Elbridge replied, glancing at the clock.
"The minutes are hours, but clearing and strengthening hours," said the Judge. He turned about and began to walk up and down the room, with all the simpleness of his nature in his face. He did not look like a man who had sat in judgment upon the actions of men. His heart had cried for pardon, and a belief that it had come lighted his countenance. A man who has been shrewd in the affairs of the world, sharp in practice, suspicious, sometimes becomes simple and trustful in the love of a grandchild. And at this time, the Judge might have reminded one of such a man.
Mrs. Elbridge stood in the door looking down the hall. The Judge halted to speak to Florence. "Forgiveness," said he, "is the essence of all that is noble in life. And do you forgive me?"