“I don’t know that. People should always strengthen the weaker part, for no chain is stronger than its weakest link; no fortification stronger than its most assailable point. But, seriously, wife, I trust your head nearly, though not quite, as much as your heart. Now to go to business. There’s one thing we have both made up our minds about--that there is to be no concealment with the child. God’s fact must be known by her. It would be cruel to keep the truth from her, even if it were not sure to come upon her with a terrible shock some day. She must know from the first, by hearing it talked of--not by solemn and private communication--that she came out of the shrubbery. That’s settled, is it not?” “Certainly. I see that to be the right way,” responded Ethelwyn. “Now, are we bound to bring her up exactly as our own, or are we not?” “We are bound to do as well for her as for our own.” “Assuredly. But if we brought her up just as our own, would that, the facts being as they are, be to do as well for her as for our own?” “I doubt it; for other people would not choose to receive her as we have done.” “That is true. She would be continually reminded of her origin. Not that that in itself would be any evil; but as they would do it by excluding or neglecting her, or, still worse, by taking liberties with her, it would be a great pain. But keeping that out of view, would it be good for herself, knowing what she will know, to be thus brought up? Would it not be kinder to bring her up in a way that would make it easier for her to relieve the gratitude which I trust she will feel, not for our sakes--I hope we are above doing anything for the sake of the gratitude which will be given for it, and which is so often far beyond the worth of the thing done--” “Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning,” said Ethel. “Ah! you understand that now, my Ethel!” “Yes, thank you, I do.” “But we must wish for gratitude for others’ sake, though we may be willing to go without it for our own. Indeed, gratitude is often just as painful as Wordsworth there represents it. It makes us so ashamed; makes us think how much more we _might_ have done; how lovely a thing it is to give in return for such common gifts as ours; how needy the man or woman must be in whom a trifle awakes so much emotion.” “Yes; but we must not in justice think that it is merely that our little doing seems great to them: it is the kindness shown them therein, for which, often, they are more grateful than for the gift, though they can’t show the difference in their thanks.” “And, indeed, are not aware of it themselves, though it is so. And yet, the same remarks hold good about the kindness as about the gift. But to return to Theodora. If we put her in a way of life that would be recognisant of whence she came, and how she had been brought thence, might it not be better for her? Would it not be building on the truth? Would she not be happier for it?”