After this, when Franky, tired out, dropped suddenly asleep, as children do, his father and Penelope talked a good while, she inquiring, in her sensible, practical way, about his circumstances and prospects; he answering, candidly and apparently truthfully without any hesitation, anger, or pride; every now and then looking down, at the least movement of the pretty, sleepy face; while a soft expression, quite new in Francis Charteris, brightened his own. There was even a degree of cheerfulness and hope in his manner, as he said, in reply to some suggestion of my sister's:--"Then you think, as Doctor Urquhart did, that my life is worth preserving--that I may turn out not such a bad man after all?" "How could a man be anything but a good man, who really felt what it is to be the father of a child?" Francis replied nothing, but he held his little son closer to his breast. Who knows but that the pretty boy may be heaven's messenger to save the father's soul? You see, Max, I still like, in my old moralizing habit, to "justify the ways of God to men," to try and perceive the use of pain, the reason of punishment; and to feel, not only by faith, but experience, that, dark as are the ways of Infinite Mercy, they are all safe ways. "_All things work together for good to them that love Him._" And so, watching these two, talking so quietly and friendly together, I thought how glad my Max would be; I remembered all my Max had done--Penelope knows it now; I told her that night. And, sad and anxious as I am about you and many things, there came over my heart one of those sudden sunshiny refts of peace, when we feel that whether or not all is happy, all is well. Francis walked along by the pony-carriage for a quarter of a mile, or more. "I must turn now. This little man ought to have been in his bed an hour or more: he always used to be. His mother--" Francis stopped--"I beg your pardon." Then, hugging the boy in a sudden passion of remorse, he said, "Penelope, if you want your revenge, take this. You cannot tell what a man feels, who, when the heyday of youth is gone, longs for a home, a virtuous home, yet knows that he never can offer or receive unblemished honour with his wife--never give his lawful name to his first-born." This was the sole allusion made openly to what both tacitly understood was to be, and which you, as well as we, will agree is the best thing that can be, under the circumstances.