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!

Miss Mary (after a pause, coming forward passionately). Hush! I
have given you my answer, be it Alexander Morton or Sandy. Go now:
bring me the child this evening at my house. I will meet you
there. (Leads the DUCHESS to wing. The DUCHESS endeavors to fall
at her feet.)

The Duchess. God bless you, miss!

Miss Mary (hurriedly embracing her). No more, no more--but go!

[Exit DUCHESS. MISS MARY returns hurriedly to centre, confronting
SANDY.

Miss Mary (to SANDY, hurriedly and excitedly). You have heard what
that woman said. I do not ask you under what alias you are known
here: I only ask a single question.--Is SHE your wife? are you the
father of her child?

Sandy (sinking upon his knees before her, and covering his face
with his hands). I am!

Miss Mary. Enough! (Taking flower from her bosom.) Here, I give
you back the flower you gave me this morning. It has faded and
died here upon my breast. But I shall replace it with your
foundling,--the child of that woman, born like that flower in the
snow! And I go now, Sandy, and leave behind me, as you said this