Barbara answered her husband’s glance; her lips were quivering. This strong man’s anguish went to her heart.
“John, tell him—”
“It is forgiveness.”
“A blotting out of the past.”
At the sound of her voice Stephen Gore recovered his courage and his self-control. He stood back from his son, putting John Gore’s arm aside, as though he had strength enough to stand alone. He looked at Barbara sadly, yet with thankfulness—the look of a man whose grosser prides were dead.
“You are alive, child; thank God for that! The truth of this was hid from me.”
She would have spoken, but he held up his hands as though to beg her patience.
“You know everything? Does she know the whole truth, John?”
The son nodded and turned his face away. My lord spoke on.
“Child, I did you and yours a great wrong. I cannot justify myself; out of my own mouth I am judged. These are the words of a man who expects to die. Yet be it said, child, without pride of heart, that I would have gladly ended the thing I called my life that I might wipe out all the past.”