How little she dreamed that there was a prophecy in the words!
"Her father has the first claim," said Dr. Letsom. "It may be hard for us to lose her, but she belongs to him."
"He will never love her as I do," observed Margaret Dornham.
Of the real rank and position of that father she had not the faintest suspicion. He had money, she knew; but that was all she knew--and money to a woman whose heart hungers for love seems very little.
"There is something almost terrible in the love of that woman for that child," thought the doctor. "She is good, earnest, tender, true, by nature; but she is capable of anything for the little one's sake."
So the two years and a half passed, and the child, with her delicate, marvelous grace, had become the very light of those two lonely lives. In another six months they would have to lose her. Dr. Letsom knew very well that if the earl were still living at the end of the three years his son would tell him of his marriage.
On a bright, sunshiny day in June the doctor walked over to Ashwood. He had a little packet of fruit and cakes with him, and a wonderful doll, dressed most royally.
"Madaline!" he cried, as he entered the cottage, and she came running to him, "should you like a drive with me to-morrow?" he asked. "I am going to Corfell, and I will promise to take you if you will be a good girl."
She promised--for a drive with the doctor was her greatest earthly delight.
"Bring her to my house about three to-morrow afternoon, Mrs. Dornham," said Dr. Letsom, "and she shall have her drive."