He had not read this letter to the end, and had hardly washed the soap from his face, before he was in his daughter-in-law’s room.  She was there with her child, still in bed,—­thinking, thinking, thinking whether there would ever come an end to her misery.  ‘It has come,’ said the old man.

‘What has come?’ she asked, jumping up with the baby in her arms.  But she knew what had come, for he had the letter open in his hands.

’They have pardoned him.  The absurdity of the thing!  Pardoning a man whom they know to be innocent, and to have been injured!’

But the ‘absurdity of the thing,’ as the old squire very naturally called it, was nothing to her now.  He was to come back to her.  She would be in his arms that day.  On that very day she would once again hold up her boy to be kissed by his father.

’Where is he?  When will he come?  Of course I will go to him!  You will make them have the waggonnette at once; will you not?  I will be dressed in five minutes if you will go.  Of course I will go to fetch him.’

But this the squire would not allow.  The carriage should be sent, of course, and if it met his son on the road, as was probable, there would be no harm done.  But it would not be well that the greeting between the husband and the wife should be in public.  So he went out to order the carriage and to prepare himself to accompany it, leaving her to think of her happiness and to make herself ready for the meeting.  But when left to herself she could hardly compose herself so as to brush her hair and give herself those little graces which should be pleasant to his eye.  ‘Papa is coming,’ she said to her boy over and over again.  ’Papa is coming back.  Papa will be here; your own, own, own papa.’  Then she threw aside the black gown, which she had worn since he left her, and chose for her wear one which he himself had taken pride in buying for her,—­the first article of her dress in the choice of which he had been consulted as her husband; and with quick unsteady hand she pulled out some gay ribbon for her baby.  Yes;—­she and her boy would once again be bright for his sake;—­for his sake there should again be gay ribbons and soft silks.  ‘Papa is coming, my own one; your own, own papa!’ and then she smothered the child with kisses.

While they were sitting at breakfast at Puritan Grange, the same news reached Mr. and Mrs. Bolton.  The letter to the old man from his son in town was very short, merely stating that the authorities at the Home Office had at last decided that Caldigate should be released from prison.  The writer knew that his father would be prepared for this news by his brother; and all that could be said in the way of argument had been said already.  The letters which came to Puritan Grange were few in number, and were generally addressed to the lady.  The banker’s letters were all received at the house of business in the town.  ‘What is it?’ asked the wife, as soon as she saw the long official envelope.  But he read it to the end very slowly before he vouchsafed her any reply.  ’It has to do with that wretched man in prison,’ she said.  ‘What is it?’