"You were right," returned the rector; "the poor doctor's love for the child was talked about everywhere. As for Margaret Dornham, I do not think, if she had been her own, she could have loved her better. Whatever else may have gone wrong, take my word for it, there was no lack of love for the child; she could not have been better cared for--of that I am quite sure."
"I am glad to hear you say so; that is some comfort. But why did no one write to me when the doctor died?"
"I do not think he left one shred of paper containing any allusion to your lordship. All his effects were claimed by some distant cousin, who now lives in his house. I was asked to look over his papers, but there was not a private memorandum among them--not one; there was nothing in fact but receipted bills."
Lord Mountdean looked up.
"There must be some mistake," he observed. "I myself placed in his charge all the papers necessary for the identification of my little daughter."
"May I ask of what they consisted?" said the rector.
"Certainly--the certificate of my marriage, of my beloved wife's death, of my little daughter's birth, and an agreement between the doctor and myself as to the sum that was to be paid to him yearly while he had charge of my child."
"Then the doctor knew your name, title, and address?"
"Yes; I had no motive in keeping them secret, save that I did not wish my marriage to be known to my father until I myself could tell him--and I know how fast such news travels. I remember distinctly where he placed the papers. I watched him."
"Where was it?" asked Mr. Darnley. "For I certainly have seen nothing of them."