do no more. But
he stopped again without entering the mill.

"Child," he said at last, "come here, then." She ran at once to meet
him. "I will forgive thee. There. I will forgive thee, and trust thou
may'st be a better girl than thou hast been."

She flew to him and threw her arms round his neck and kissed his face
and breast. "Oh, father," she said, "I will be good. I will try to be
good. Only you will speak to me."

[Illustration: "Oh, father," she said, "I will be good."]

"Get thee into the house now. I have forgiven thee." So saying he
passed on to his morning's work.

Carry, running into the house, at once roused her sister. "Fanny,"
she exclaimed, "he has forgiven me at last; he has said that he will
forgive me."

But to the miller's mind, and to his sense of justice, the
forgiveness thus spoken did not suffice. When he returned to
breakfast, Mrs. Brattle had, of course, been told of the morning's
work, and had rejoiced greatly. It was to her as though the greatest
burden of her life had now been taken from her weary back. Her girl,
to her loving motherly heart, now that he who had in all things been
the lord of her life had vouchsafed his pardon to the poor sinner,
would be as pure as when she had played about the mill in all her
girlish innocence. The mother had known that her child was still
under a cloud, but the cloud to her had consisted in the father's
wrath rather than in the feeling of any public shame. To her a sin
repented was a sin no more, and her love for her child made her sure
of the sincerity of that repentance. But there could be no joy over
the sinner in this world till the head of the house should again have
taken her to his heart. When the miller came in to his breakfast the
three women were standing together, not without some outward marks of
contentment. Mrs. Brattle's cap was clean, and even Fanny, who was
ever tidy and never smart, had managed in some way to add something
bright to her appearance. Where is the woman who, when she has been
pleased, will not show her pleasure by some sign in her outward
garniture? But still there was anxiety. "Will he call me Carry?" the
girl had asked. He had not done so when he pronounced her pardon
at the mill door. Though they were standing together they had not
decided on any line of action. The pardon had been spoken and they
were sure that it would not be revoked; but how it would operate at
first none of them had even guessed.

The mil