“He may have more money than I have,” thought poor, mistaken Margaret, “but he cannot love her so much; and after all love is better than money.”

It was easy to manage her husband.  She had said but little to him at the time she undertook the charge of little Madaline, and he had been too indifferent to make inquiries.  She told him now, what was in some measure quite true, that with the doctor’s death her income had ceased, and that she herself not only was perfectly ignorant of the child’s real name, but did not even know to whom to write.  It was true, but she knew at the same time that, if she would only open the box of papers, she would not be ignorant of any one point; for those papers she had firmly resolved never to touch, so that in saying she knew nothing of the child’s identity she would be speaking the bare truth.

At first Henry Dornham was indignant.  The child should not be left a burden and drag on his hands, he declared—­it must go to the work-house.

But patient Margaret clasped her arms round his neck, and whispered to him that the child was so clever, so pretty, she would be a gold-mine to them in the future—­only let them get away from Ashwood, and go to London, where she could be well trained and taught.  He laughed a sneering laugh, for which, had he been any other than her husband, she would have hated him.

“Not a bad plan, Maggie,” he said; “then she can work to keep us.  I, myself, do not care where we go or what we do, so that no one asks me to work.”

He was easily persuaded to say nothing about their removal, to go to London without saying anything to his old friends and neighbors of their intentions.  Margaret knew well that so many were interested in the child that she would not be allowed to take her away if her wish became known.

How long the little cottage at Ashwood had been empty no one knows.  It stood so entirely alone that for weeks together nothing was seen or known of its inhabitants.  Henry Dornham was missed from his haunts.  His friends and comrades wondered for a few days, and then forgot him; they thought that in all probability he was engaged in some not very reputable pursuit.

The rector of Castledene—­the Rev. John Darnley—­was the first really to miss them.  He had always been interested in little Madaline.  When he heard from the shop keepers that Margaret had not been seen in the town lately, he feared she was ill, and resolved to go and see her.  His astonishment was great when he found the cottage closed and the Dornhams gone—­the place had evidently been empty for some weeks.  On inquiry he found that the time of their departure and the place of their destination was equally unknown.  No one knew whither they had gone or anything about them.  Mr. Darnley was puzzled; it seemed to him very strange that, after having lived in the place so long, Margaret Dornham should have left without saying one word to any human being.