And in the first excitement of such happiness Lord Charlewood did not dare to tell his father the mournful story of his marriage and of his young wife’s untimely death.  Then the doctors told him that the old earl might live for some few years longer, but that he would require the greatest care; he had certainly heart-disease, and any sudden excitement, any great anxiety, any cause of trouble might kill him at once.  Knowing this Lord Charlewood did not dare to tell his secret; it would have been plunging his father into danger uselessly; besides which the telling of it was useless now—­his beautiful wife was dead, and the child too young to be recognized or made of consequence.  So he devoted himself to the earl, having decided in his own mind what steps to take.  If the earl lived until little Madaline reached her third year, then he would tell him his secret; the child would be pretty and graceful—­she would, in all probability, win his love.  He could not let it go on longer than that.  Madaline could not remain unknown and uncared for in that little county town; it was not to be thought of.  Therefore, if his father lived, and all went well, he would tell his story then; if, on the contrary, his health failed, then he would keep his secret altogether, and his father would never know that he had disobeyed him.

There was a wonderful affection between this father and son.  The earl was the first to notice the change that had come over his bright, handsome boy; the music had all gone from his voice, the ring from his laughter, the light from his face.  Presently he observed the deep mourning dress.

“Hubert,” he asked, suddenly, “for whom are you in mourning?”

Lord Charlewood’s face flushed.  For one moment he felt tempted to answer—­

“For my beloved wife whom Heaven has taken from me.”

But he remembered the probable consequence of such a shock to his father, and replied, quietly: 

“For one of my friends, father—­one whom you did not know.”  And Lord Mountdean did not suspect.

Another time the old earl placed his arm round his son’s neck.

“How I wish, Hubert,” he said, “that your mother had lived to see you a grown man!  I think—­do not laugh at me, my son—­I think yours is perfect manhood; you please me infinitely.”

Lord Charlewood smiled at the simple, loving praise.

“I have a woman’s pride in your handsome face and tall, stately figure.  How glad I am, my son, that no cloud has ever come between us!  You have been the best of sons to me.  When I die you can say to yourself that you have never once in all your life given me one moment’s pain.  How pleased I am that you gave up that foolish marriage for my sake!  You would not have been happy.  Heaven never blesses such marriages.”

He little knew that each word was as a dagger to his son’s heart.

“After you had left me and had gone back to England,” he continued, “I used to wonder if I had done wisely or well in refusing you your heart’s desire; now I know that I did well, for unequal marriages never prosper.  She, the girl you loved, may have been very beautiful, but you would never have been happy with her.”