'Dick has forgiven that,' repeated Estelle, earnestly. 'He has indeed, and no one but you, and he, and I know anything about it.'
'Are you sure, Missie? It seems too wonderful to believe! If I thought so—why, I would go and see him when I take you home. It would please him, you say; and—and—well, I would like to ask—— '
'For what, Jack?'
'I would like to hear him say himself that he forgives—— '
He hid his face in his hands and groaned. Ruined for life, but not dead. Frightfully, hopelessly injured, but generous, forgiving! He could understand that Dick—the young handsome Dick of his recollection—had prayed for his destroyer, and—thank God—had not prayed in vain. It was, indeed, a deeply repentant, broken-hearted man who sat there in the spring sunshine with bowed head, and bitter sorrow for a deed which could not be undone.
As Estelle looked at Jack's figure, and saw the shudder which now and again passed over him, her pity was perhaps greater for this sufferer than it was for poor Dick. Her eyes were blinded with tears.
'Jack,' she said, when she could command her voice, 'dear kind Jack, you never refuse me anything. Don't say "no" to what I am going to ask you now.'
A murmur was the only reply.
'What I want you to do will not make you more miserable, Jack, and it will be a great kindness to poor Dick. Give him the pleasure of knowing what a good fellow you are now, and how miserable and sorry you are. He does forgive, you know, and he is so anxious about you, though he cannot speak properly, and tell you as he would if he were well.'
'You are sure he would wish it?'