Looking up, they saw the earl crossing the lawn to meet them.

“Madaline,” he said, gently, when he was close to them, “how rejoiced I am to see that look on your face.  You have no thought of dying now?”

“Not if I can help it, papa,” she replied.

“I think,” continued the earl, “that this is the happiest day of my life.  I must say this to you, Norman—­that, if I had chosen from all the world, I could not have chosen a son whom I should care for more than for you, and that, if I had a son of my own, I should have wished him to be like you.  And now we will talk about our future—­I am so proud to have two children to arrange for instead of one—­our future, that is to have no clouds.  In the first place, what must we do with this good foster-mother of yours, Madaline, whose great love for you has led to all this complication?”

“I know what I should like to do,” said Lady Arleigh, gently.

“Then consider it done,” put in her husband.

“I should like her to live with me always,” said Lady Arleigh any capacity—­as housekeeper, or whatever she would like.  She has had so little happiness in her life, and she would find her happiness now in mine.  When her unfortunate husband is free again, she can do as she likes—­either go abroad with him, or we can find them a cottage and keep them near us.”

So it was arranged; and there were few happier women than Margaret Dornham when she heard the news.

“I thought,” she sobbed, in a broken voice, “that I should never be forgiven; and now I find that I am to be always near to the child for whose love I would have sacrificed the world.”

Lord Mountdean insisted on the fullest publicity being given to Madaline’s abduction.

“There is one thing,” he said, “I cannot understand—­and that is how you came to misunderstand each other.  Why did Madaline believe that you knew all about her story when you knew nothing of it?  That secret, I suppose, you will keep to yourselves?”

“Yes,” replied Lord Arleigh.  “The truth is, we were both cruelly deceived—­it matters little by whom and how.’”

“That part of the story, then, will never be understood,” said Lord Mountdean.  “The rest must be made public, no matter at what cost to our feelings—­there must be no privacy, no shadow over my daughter’s name.  You give me your full consent, Norman?”

“Certainly; I think your proposal is very wise,” Lord Arleigh replied.

“Another thing, Norman—­I do not wish my daughter to go home to Beechgrove until her story has been made known.  Then I will see that all honor is paid to her.”

So it was agreed, and great was the sensation that ensued.  “The Arleigh Romance,” as it was called, was carried from one end of the kingdom to the other.  Every newspaper was filled with it; all other intelligence sank into insignificance when compared with it.  Even the leading journals of the day curtailed their political articles to give a full account of the Arleigh romance.  But it was noticeable that in no way whatsoever was the name of the Duchess of Hazlewood introduced.