Her feeling, the much livelier animation, was bitter grief, because her mistress, unlike herself, had been betrayed by her ignorance of the man into calling him husband.  Just some knowledge of the man!  The warning to the rescue might be there.  For nothing did the dear lady weep except for her brother’s evil fortune.  The day when she had intelligence from Mrs. Levellier of her brother’s defeat, she wept over the letter on her knees long hours.  ‘Me, my child, my brother!’ she cried more than once.  She had her suspicion of the earl then, and instantly, as her loving servant had.  The suspicion was now no dark light, but a clear day-beam to Madge.  She adopted Kit’s word of Lord Fleetwood.  ’A black nobleman he is! he is!’ Her mistress had written like a creature begging him for money.  He did not deign a reply.  To her!  When he had seen good proof she was the bravest woman on earth; and she rushed at death to save a child, a common child; as people say.  And who knows but she saved that husband of hers, too, from bites might have sent him out of the world barking, and all his wealth not able to stop him!

They were in the month of March.  Her dear mistress had been begging my lord through Mr. Woodseer constantly of late for an allowance of money; on her knees to him, as it seemed; and Mr. Woodseer was expected at Esslemont.  Her mistress was looking for him eagerly.  Something her heart was in depended on it, and only her brother could be the object, for now she loved only him of these men; though a gentleman coming over from Barlings pretty often would pour mines of money into her lap for half a word.

Carinthia had walked up to Croridge in the morning to meet her brother at Lekkatts.  Madge was left guardian of the child.  She liked a stroll any day round Esslemont Park, where her mistress was beginning to strike roots; as she soon did wherever she was planted, despite a tone of pity for artificial waters and gardeners’ arts.  Madge respected them.  She knew nothing of the grandeur of wildness.  Her native English veneration for the smoothing hand of wealth led her to think Esslemont the home of all homes for a lady with her husband beside her.  And without him, too, if he were wafted over seas and away:  if there would but come a wind to do that!

The wild North-easter tore the budded beeches.  Master John Edward Russett lay in the cradling-basket drawn by his docile donkey, Martha and Madge to right and left of him; a speechless rustic, graduating in footman’s livery, to rear.

At slow march round by the wrinkled water, Madge saw the park gates flung wide.  A coach drove up the road along on the farther rim of the circle, direct for the house.  It stopped, the team turned leisurely and came at a smart pace toward the carriage-basket.  Lord Fleetwood was recognized.

He alighted, bidding one of his grooms drive to stables.  Madge performed her reverence, aware that she did it in clumsy style; his presence had startled her instincts and set them travelling.