“No, indeed,” continued Milly, with some warmth; “and if you only knew what he has suffered on your account—”
“Milly,” cried Mrs Moss quickly, “is all that I have suffered on his account to count for nothing?”
“Of course not, dear mother. I don’t mean that; you don’t understand me. I mean the reproaches that his own conscience has heaped upon his head for what he has inadvertently done.”
“Recklessly, child, not inadvertently. Besides, you know, his conscience is not himself. People cannot avoid what conscience says to them. Its remarks are no sign of humility or self-condemnation, one proof of which is that wicked people would gladly get away from conscience if they could, instead of agreeing with it, as they should, and shaking hands with it, and saying, ‘we are all that you call us, and more.’”
“Well, that is exactly what John has done,” said Milly, with increasing, warmth. “He has said all that, and more to me—”
“To you?” interrupted Mrs Moss; “yes, but you are not his conscience, child!”
“Yes, I am, mother; at least, if I’m not, I am next thing to it, for he says everything to me!” returned Milly, with a laugh and a blush. “And you have no idea how sorry, how ashamed, how self-condemned, how overwhelmed he has been by all that has happened.”
“Humph! I have been a good deal more overwhelmed than he has been,” returned Mrs Moss. “However, make your mind easy, child, for during the last week or two, in learning to love and esteem John Barret, I have unwittingly been preparing the way to forgive and forget the cowardly youth who ran me down in London. Now go and send Mr Jackman to me; I have a great opinion of that young man’s knowledge of medicine and surgery, though he is only an amateur. He will soon tell me whether I have received any hurt that has rendered me incapable of feeling. And at the same time you may convey to that coward, John, my entire forgiveness.”
Milly kissed her mother, of course, and hastened away to deliver her double message.
After careful examination and much questioning, “Dr” Jackman pronounced the little old lady to be entirely free from injury of any kind, save the smashing of a comb in her back-hair, and gave it as his opinion that she was as sound in wind and limb as before the accident, though there had unquestionably been a considerable shock to the feelings, which, however, seemed to have had the effect of improving rather than deranging her intellectual powers. The jury which afterwards sat upon her returned their verdict in accordance with that opinion.