The Duchess. Yes, miss; you see, I came to ask you to take my Tommy,--God bless him for the sweetest, bestest boy that lives!--to take him with you. I've money plenty; and it's all yours and his. Put him in some good school, whar ye kin go and see, and sorter help him to--forget---his mother. Do with him what you like. The worst you can do will be kindness to what he would learn with me. You will: I know you will; won't you? You will make him as pure and as good as yourself; and when he has grown up, and is a gentleman, you will tell him his father's name,--the name that hasn't passed my lips for years,--the name of Alexander Morton. Miss Mary (aside). Alexander Morton! The prodigal! Ah, I see,--the ungathered husks of his idle harvest. The Duchess. You hesitate, Miss Mary. (Seizing her.) Do not take your hand away. You are smiling. God bless you! I know you will take my boy. Speak to me, Miss Mary. Miss Mary (aloud). I will take your child. More than that, I will take him to his father. The Duchess. No, no! for God's sake, no, Miss Mary! He has never seen him from his birth: he does not know him. He will disown him. He will curse him,--will curse me! Miss Mary. Why should he? Surely his crime is worse than yours. The Duchess. Hear me, Miss Mary. (Aside.) How can I tell her? (Aloud.) One moment, miss. I was once--ye may not believe it, miss--as good, as pure, as you. I had a husband, the father of this child. He was kind, good, easy, forgiving,--too good for me, miss, too simple and unsuspecting. He was what the world calls a fool, miss: he loved me too well,--the kind o' crime, miss,--beggin' your pardon, and all precepts to the contrairy,--the one thing that women like me never forgives. He had a pardner, miss, that governed him as HE never governed me; that held him with the stronger will, and maybe ME too. I was young, miss,--no older than yourself then; and I ran away with him,--left all, and ran away with my husband's pardner. My husband--nat'rally--took to drink. I axes your pardin', miss; but ye'll see now, allowin' your larnin', that Alexander Morton ain't the man as will take my child. Miss Mary. Nonsense. You are wrong. He has reformed; he has been restored to his home,--your child's home, your home if you will but claim it. Do not fear: I will make that right. Enter SANDY slowly and sheepishly, R.; stops on observing the Duchess, and stands amazed and motionless. Miss Mary (observing SANDY--aside). He HAS returned. Poor fellow! How shall I get rid of this woman? (Aloud.) Enough. If you are sincere, I will take your child, and, God help me! bring him to his home and yours. Are you satisfied? The Duchess. Thank ye! Thank ye, miss; but--but thar's a mistake somewhar. In course--it's natural--ye don't know the father of that child, my boy Tommy, under the name o' Alexander Morton. Ye're thinking, like as not, of another man. The man I mean lives yer, in this camp: they calls him Sandy, miss,--SANDY!