later--and I ain't goin' to cry about THAT.

Miss Mary (impatiently). Pray tell me how I can serve you.

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.