“There is a mystery in it,” thought the rector.  He never dreamed that the cause of the mystery was the woman’s passionate love for the child.

All Castledene wondered with him—­indeed, for some days the little town was all excitement.  Margaret Dornham had disappeared with the child who had been left in their midst.  Every one seemed to be more or less responsible for her; but neither wonder nor anything else gave them the least clew as to whither or why she had gone.  After a few day’s earnest discussion and inquiry the excitement died away, when a wonderful event revived it.  It was no other than the arrival of the new Earl of Mountdean in search of his little girl.

This time the visitor did not take any pains to conceal his title.  He drove to the “Castle Arms,” and from there went at once to the doctor’s house.  He found it closed and empty.  The first person he asked told him that the doctor had been for some weeks dead and buried.

The young earl was terribly shocked.  Dead and buried—­the kindly man who had befriended him in the hour of need!  It seemed almost incredible.  And why had no one written to him?  Still he remembered the address of his child’s foster-mother.  It was Ashwood Cottage; and he went thither at once.  When he found that too closed and deserted, it seemed to him that fortune was playing him a trick.

He was disconcerted; and then, believing that this at least was but a case of removal, he decided upon going to the rector of the parish, whom he well remembered.  He surely would be able to give him all information.

Mr. Darnley looked up in wonder at the announcement of his visitor’s name—­the Earl of Mountdean.  What could the earl possibly want of him?

His wonder deepened as he recognized in the earl the stranger at the burial of whose fair young wife he had assisted three years before.  The earl held out his hand.

“You are surprised to see me, Dr. Darnley?  You recognize me, I perceive.”

The rector contrived to say something about his surprise, but Lord Mountdean interrupted him hastily: 

“Yes, I understand.  I was traveling as Mr. Charlewood when my terrible misfortune overtook me here.  I have returned from Italy, where I have been spending the last three years.  My father has just died, and I am here in search of my child.  My child,” continued the earl, seeing the rector’s blank face—­“where is she?  I find my poor friend the doctor is dead, and the house where my little one’s foster-mother lived is empty.  Can you tell me what it means?”

He tried to speak calmly, but his handsome face had grown quite white, his lips were dry and hot, his voice, even to himself, had a strange, harsh sound.

“Where is she?” he repeated.  “The little one—­my Madaline’s child?  I have a strange feeling that all is not well.  Where is my child?”

He saw the shadow deepen on the rector’s face, and he clasped his arm.