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