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.
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