"He is now waiting in the garden. I have been telling Mr. Faringfield, ma'am, that the young man is greatly altered. Upon my word, he shows the truest signs of penitence. I believe he is entirely reformed; he says so."
"You'd best let him come in, William," counselled Mrs. Faringfield. "If you don't, goodness knows what he may do."
"Madam, I resolved long ago to let the law do its utmost upon him, if he should ever return."
"Oh, but think what scandal! What will all my relations say? Besides, if he is reformed—"
"If he is reformed, let him show it by his conduct on my refusing to take him back; and by suffering the penalty of his crime."
"Oh!—penalty! Don't speak such words! A jailbird in the family! I never could endure it! I shouldn't dare go to church, or be seen anywhere in public!"
"The same old discussion!" said Mr. Faringfield, with a wearied frown.
"Papa, you won't send him to jail, will you?" ventured Fanny, with eyes rapidly moistening, and lips turning to a pout in spite of herself.
"Really, sir," put in Cornelius, trembling at his own temerity, "if you could but see him—take my word, sir, if ever there was a case where forgiveness—"
After much more of this sort of talk, and being shaken in will by the day's previous excitements, Mr. Faringfield at length gave in so far as to consent to an interview with the penitent, to whom thereupon Cornelius hastened with the news.