VICAR.  There is much to forgive, both sides, Martha.  My sin has been greater than yours.  You have only loved unworthily in blindness:  I have seen clearly and been a coward.

[Enter MARY from the garden.]

Mary! . . .

MARY.  Let me speak, uncle.  I have been thinking, out there in the garden—­thinking very hard:  I’ve been trying to put things together again and make them straight; but it’s still very difficult.  Only there’s one thing—­I’m sorry I was unkind just now:  I didn’t mean it:  you are everything I have—­everything I have ever had; and as for what uncle said—­about himself, I mean—­I can’t believe it.  No, I’m sure there’s a mistake somewhere; and mistakes can always be put right, if we only help one another and mean it.  Shall we try, uncle?  Shall we, auntie?

AUNTIE.  If it’s not too late! . . .

MARY.  It can’t be too late, auntie dear, if we all wish very hard. 
I was a coward to give up wishing.  That was my sin, too!

AUNTIE.  God knows, I wish, Mary! . . .

VICAR.  And I! . . .

MARY.  And, indeed, I do! . . .

Now, I’ve been thinking:  I’ve been trying to look the worst in the face.  Supposing my father is the wicked man you say—­the very, very wickedest man that ever lived, don’t you think if we tried to love him very much it might make a difference?

VICAR.  What made you think of that, Mary? . . .

MARY [simply].  It’s what you taught me, uncle, in your sermons.

VICAR. I taught you? . . .

MARY.  Yes:  and, besides, there’s another reason. . .  I’ve been thinking of the poor man I met this morning.

AUNTIE. ) Yes . . . 
VICAR. ) What of him? . . .

MARY. He said he was a wicked man, and at first he looked so dreadfully wicked, I believed him; but when I began to look at him closely, and heard him talk about his little girl, everything seemed different!  I could no more believe him, than I can believe you, uncle, when you say such awful things about yourself!  I believe he was a much better man than he ever dreamed!  And so I think we might find my father just the same, if he was properly loved and looked after!

VICAR [with determination].  Then listen to me, Mary:  I have something to tell you:  that very man you spoke to . . .

[ROGERS enters, his face betraying signs of his morning’s affliction.]

ROGERS.  Beg your pardon, sir; but . . .

VICAR.  Yes, Rogers:  what is it?

ROGERS.  Mr. Manson sent me, sir; it ain’t my fault! . . .

VICAR.  Do explain yourself, Rogers!

ROGERS.  Well, sir, it’s a bit orkard:  it’s . . .  I really don’t know what you’ll say, sir, I don’t really . . .

VICAR [impatiently].  Come, come, come, what is it?

ROGERS. It’s a man, sir!

VICAR.  Well, there’s nothing very extraordinary in that.  Wants to see me, eh?