She looked up at him gravely, whilst knotting the ends.
‘Have you a message for your son—of love and forgiveness?’
‘Forgiveness! it is your father he has robbed. Love——There is no love lost between us.’
‘He is lonely and sad,’ said Barbara, not now looking up, but busy with her hands, tightening the knots and intent on the bundle. ‘I can see that his heart is aching; night and day there is a gnawing pain in his breast. No one loves him, and he seems to me to be a man who craves for love, who might be reclaimed by love.’
‘Don’t forget the letter for your father,’ said Mr. Babb.
‘What about your son? Have you no message for him?’
‘None. Mind that envelope. What it contains is precious.’
‘Is it a cheque for fifteen hundred pounds?’
‘Oh, dear me, no! It is a text of scripture.’
Then, hastily, Mr. Babb stepped back, shut the door, and bolted and chained it.