No gleam of light came into the dying eyes, no consciousness into the quiet face; the earl did not hear.  When, at last, his son had made up his mind to reveal his secret, it was too late for his father to hear—­and he died without knowing it.  He died, and was brought back to England, and buried with great pomp and magnificence; and then his son reigned in his stead, and became Earl of Mountdean.  The first thing that he did after his father’s funeral was to go down to Castledene; he had made all arrangements for bringing his daughter and heiress home.  He was longing most impatiently to see her; but when he reached the little town a shock of surprise awaited him that almost cost him his life.

Chapter IV.

Dr. Letsom had prospered; one gleam of good fortune had brought with it a sudden outburst of sunshine.  The doctor had left his little house in Castle street, and had taken a pretty villa just outside Castledene.  He had furnished it nicely—­white lace curtains were no longer an unattainable luxury; no house in the town looked so clean, so bright, or so pretty as the doctor’s People began to look up to him; it was rumored that he had had money left to him—­a fortune that rendered him independent of his practice.  No sooner was that quite understood than people began to find out that after all he was a very clever man.  No sooner did they feel quite convinced that he was indifferent about his practice than they at once appreciated his services; what had been called abruptness now became truth and sincerity He was declared to be like Dr. Abernethy—­wonderfully clever, though slightly brusque in manner.  Patients began to admire him; one or two instances of wonderful cures were noted in his favor; the world, true to itself, true to its own maxims, began to respect him when it was believed that he had good fortune for his friend.  In one year’s time he had the best practice in the town, the ladies found his manner so much improved.

He bore his good-fortune as he had borne his ill-fortune, with great equanimity; it had come too late.  If but a tithe of it had fallen to his share twelve years earlier, he might have made the woman he loved so dearly his wife.  She might have been living—–­ loving happy, by his side.  Nothing could bring her back—­the good-fortune had come all too late; still he was grateful for it.  It was pleasant to be able to pay his bills when they became due, to be able to help his poorer neighbors, to be able to afford for himself little luxuries such as he had long been without.  The greatest happiness he had now in life was his love for little Madeline.  The hold she had taken of him was marvelous from the first moment she held out her baby-hands until the last in which he saw her she was his one dream of delight.  At first he had visited Ashwood as a matter of duty; but, as time passed on those visits became his dearest pleasures.  The child began to know him, her lovely little face to brighten for him; she had no fear of him, but would sit on his knee and lisp her pretty stories and sing her pretty songs until he was fairly enchanted.