In after years he thought how strange it was that he should have asked the question.

“I want you,” said Lord Charlewood, “to devote yourself entirely to the little one; you will be so liberally paid as not to need work of any other kind.  I am going abroad, but I leave Dr. Letsom as the guardian of the child; apply to him for everything you want, as you will not be able to communicate with me.”

He watched her as she took the child in her arms.  He was satisfied when he saw the light that came into her face:  he knew that little Madaline would be well cared for.  He placed a bank note for fifty pounds in the woman’s hands.

“Buy all that is needful for the little one,” he said.

In all things Margaret Dornham promised obedience.  One would have thought she had found a great treasure.  To her kindly, womanly heart, the fact that she once more held a little child in her arms was a source of the purest happiness The only drawback was when she reached home, and her husband laughed coarsely at the sad little story.

“You have done a good day’s work, Maggie,” he said; “now I shall expect you to keep me, and I shall take it easy.”

He kept his word, and from that day made no further effort to earn any money.

“Maggie had enough for both,” he said—­“for both of them and that bit of a child.”

Faithful, patient Margaret never complained, and not even Dr. Letsom knew how the suffering of her daily life had increased even though she was comforted by the love of the little child.

Chapter III.

Madaline slept in her grave—­her child was safe and happy with the kindly, tender woman who was to supply its mother’s place.  Then Lord Charlewood prepared to leave the place where he had suffered so bitterly.  The secret of his title had been well kept.  No one dreamed that the stranger whose visit to the little town had been such a sad one was the son of one of England’s earls.  Charlewood did not strike any one as being a very uncommon name.  There was not the least suspicion as to his real identity.  People thought he must be rich; but that he was noble also no one ever imagined.

Mary Galbraith, the doctor’s housekeeper, thought a golden shower had fallen over the house.  Where there had been absolute poverty there was now abundance.  There were no more shabby curtains and threadbare carpets—­everything was new and comfortable.  The doctor seemed to have grown younger—­relieved as he was from a killing weight of anxiety and care.

The day came when Lord Charlewood was to say good-by to his little daughter, and the friends who had been friends indeed.  Margaret Dornham was sent for.  When she arrived the two gentlemen were in the parlor, and she was shown in to them.  Every detail of that interview was impressed on Margaret’s mind.  The table was strewn with papers, and Lord Charlewood taking some in his hand, said: