'Yes, sir, of course I'm glad. But I've been thinkin' of a good many things. I've been thinkin' of baby, and--and----' She bit her lips, as if that effort were necessary to restrain the expression of what was in her mind. 'Don't hide anything from me, my dear; tell me what you've been thinking of.' 'I 'ardly know 'ow to tell it, sir. My thoughts seem as if they was turnin' agin myself. I see that I must ha' been goin' on wrong all my life, and that Tom 's been doin' the same. And my 'eart's fit to break, when I think it can't be altered now!' 'It can be altered, my child.' She looked at me imploringly. 'You've said somethin' like that afore, sir; but it's all dark to me. Tom'll come 'ome to-morrer, and things'll go on in the old way, and per'aps he'll be took up agin before long----' She could not proceed for her tears. 'You see, my dear, that the life he is leading is wrong.' 'I see it, sir--I see it. It'd be better, arter what you've told me, if Tom and me was to die to-morrer!' 'Our lives are not in our own hands, my dear. What has been done in the past has been done in ignorance, and the shame of it can be wiped away. It _is_ shame, my dear. Place yourself and Tom by the side of Ruth and _her_ husband.' She uttered a cry, as if a knife had struck her. But I continued: 'Place your home by the side of theirs. See the happy future that lies before them, and think of what lies before you, if, as you have said, things go on with you in the same old way.' She covered her face with her hands. I was striking her hard, but I knew it was necessary for the sacrifice I was about to call upon her to make. I drew a picture of the two homes. I placed children in them, and contrasted their appearance, their lives, their chances of happiness. I did not spare her; I spoke with all my strength and earnestness. Suddenly she interrupted me with wild looks and in a wild tone. 'What are you tellin' me all this for?' 'Because it is in your power to choose between them,' I replied. 'Not only for yourself, but for Tom. His future is in your hands to shape to a good end, if you have the courage to make a sacrifice. Nay, not only his future in this world--his soul is in your hands to save and purify!' She parted the hair from her eyes, and gazed at me as if she were in a dream. 'Will you do this? Will you save your husband from the net of crime and shame in which he is entangled?' 'Will I do it?' she cried, in a tone of wonder. 'Can you arks me? Show me the way!' I did. I told her the end I had been working for. I read Richard's letter to her, and dilated upon the prospect it held out.