ter, nor a Christian, to say,' Mr.
Dutton sternly said.

''Tis not for myself--'tis for her,--'objected Nuttie.

'That's nonsense; a mere excuse,' he returned. 'You have nothing at
all to forgive, since he did not know you were in existence. And as to
your mother, whom you say you put first, what greater grief or pain can
you give her than by showing enmity and resentment against her husband,
when she, the really injured person, loves and forgives?'

'He's a bad man. If she goes back to him, I know he will make her
unhappy--'

'You don't know any such thing, but you do know that your opposition
will make her unhappy. Remember, there's no choice in the matter. He
has legal rights over you both, and since he shows himself ready (as I
understand from Miss Headworth that he is) to give her and you your
proper position, you have nothing to do but to be thankful. I think
myself that it is a great subject of thankfulness that your mother can
return so freely without any bitterness. It is the blessing of such as
she--'

Nuttie stood pouting, but more thoughtful and less violent, as she
said, 'How can I be thankful? I don't want position or anything. I
only want him to let my--my own mother, and aunt, and me alone.'

'Child, you are talking of what you do not understand. You must not
waste any more time in argument. Your mother has sent for you, and it
is your duty to go and let her introduce you to your father. I have
little doubt that you will find him very unlike all your imagination
represents him, but let that be as it may, the fifth Commandment does
not say, "Honour only thy good father," but, "Honour thy father." Come
now, put on your gloves--get her hat right, if you please, Miss Mary.
There--now, come along, be a reasonable creature, and a good girl, and
do not give unnecessary pain and vexation to your mother.' He gave her
his arm, and led her away.

'Well done, Mr. Dutton!' exclaimed Miss Nugent.

'Poor Mr. Dutton!' All Aunt Ursel's discretion could not suppress that
sigh, but Mary prudently let it pass unnoticed, only honouring in her
heart the unselfishness and self-restraint of the man whose long,
patient, unspoken hopes had just received a death-blow.

'Oh, Mary! I never thought it would have been like this!' cried the
poor old lady. 'I ought not to have spoken as I did before the child,
but I was so taken by surprise! Alice turned to him just as if he had
been the most faithful, loving