Then they went to visit Mrs. Galbraith, the doctor’s housekeeper.  She had a distinct recollection of the box—­it used to stand on the sideboard, and a large-sized family Bible generally lay on the top of it.  How long it had been out of sight when the doctor died she did not know, but she had never seen it since.  Then they drove to the bank, thinking that, perhaps, for greater security, he might have deposited it there.  No such thing had been heard of.  Plainly enough, the papers had disappeared; both the earl and the rector were puzzled.

“They can be of no possible use to any one but myself,” said Lord Mountdean.  “Now that my poor father is dead and cannot be distressed about it, I shall tell the whole world—­if it cares to listen—­the story of my marriage.  If I had wanted to keep that or the birth of my child a secret, I could have understood the papers being stolen by one wishing to trade with them.  As it is, I cannot see that they are of the least use to any one except myself.”

They gave up the search at last, and then Lord Mountdean devoted himself to the object—­the finding of his child.

In a few days the story of his marriage was told by every newspaper in the land; also the history of the strange disappearance of his child.  Large rewards were offered to any one who could bring the least information.  Not content with employing the best detective skill in England, he conducted the search himself.  He worked unwearyingly.

“A man, woman, and child could not possibly disappear from the face of the earth without leaving some trace behind,” he would say.

One little gleam of light came, which filled him with hope—­they found that Margaret Dornham had sold all her furniture to a broker living at a town called Wrentford.  She had sent for him herself, and had asked him to purchase it, saying that she, with her husband, was going to live at a distance, and that they did not care about taking it with them.  He remembered having asked her where she was going, but she evaded any reply.  He could tell no more.  He showed what he had left of the furniture and tears filled Lord Mountdean’s eyes as he saw among it a child’s crib.  He liberally rewarded the man, and then set to work with renewed vigor to endeavor to find out Margaret Dornham’s destination.

He went to the railway stations; and, though the only clew he succeeded in obtaining was a very faint one, he had some reason for believing that Margaret Dornham had gone to London.

In that vast city he continued the search, until it really seemed that every inch of ground had been examined.  It was all without result—­Margaret Dornham and her little foster-child seemed to have vanished.

“What can be the woman’s motive?” the earl would cry, in despair.  “Why has she taken the child?  What does she intend to do with it?”

It never occurred to him that her great, passionate love for the little one was the sole motive for the deed she had done.