“I know what _kind_ of person he is, and he said God was just like him, and in the God like him, if I can find him, I will believe with all my heart and soul--and so would you, father, if you knew him. You will say, perhaps, he ain't nowhere to know! but you haven't a right to say that until you've been everywhere to look; for such a God is no absurdity; it's nothing ridiculous to look for him. I beg your pardon, both of you, but I'm bound to speak. Jesus Christ said we must leave father and mother for him, because he is true; and I must speak for him what is true, even if my own father and mother should think me rude.” He had spoken eagerly; and man or woman who does not put truth first, may think he ought to have held his tongue. But neither father nor mother took offence. The mother, unspeakably relieved by what had taken place, was even ready to allow that her favourite preacher might “perhaps dwell too much upon the terrors of the law.” CHAPTER LIII. _MORNING_. The next post brought a letter from Simon Armour, saying, after his own peculiar fashion, that it was time the thing were properly understood between the parties concerned; but, that done, they must attend to the baronet's wish, and disclose nothing yet: he believed sir Wilton had his reasons. They must therefore, as soon as possible, make it clear to him that there was no break in the chain of their proof of Richard's identity. He proposed, therefore, that his daughter should pay her father a visit, and bring Richard. The suggestion seemed good to all concerned. Criminal as she knew herself, Jane Tuke did not shrink from again facing sir Wilton, with the nephew by her side whom one and twenty years before she had carried in her arms to meet his unfatherly gaze! To her surprise she found that she almost enjoyed the idea. Richard cashed the post-office-order the old man sent them, and they set out for his cottage. The same day Simon went to Mortgrange and saw the baronet, who agreed at once to go to the cottage to meet his sister-in-law. The moment he entered the little parlour where they waited to receive him, he made Mrs. Tuke a polite bow, and held out his hand. “You are the sister of my late wife, I am told,” he said. Jane made him a dignified courtesy, her resentment, after the lapse of twenty years, rising fresh at sight of the man who had behaved so badly to her sister. “It was you that carried off the child?” said the baronet. “Yes, sir,” answered Jane. “I am glad I did not know where to look for him. You did me the greatest possible favour. What these twenty years would have been like, with him in the house, I dare not think.” “It was for the child's sake I did it!” said Jane.