ad
confessed that she had been miserable under dreams worse than waking,
ever since the child was carried off. Her mother had observed her
restlessness and nervousness, but had set a good deal down to love, and
perhaps had not been entirely wrong. At any rate, she was now really
ill, and could not bear the thought of seeing her uncle, though he sent a
message to her that now he did not find it nearly so hard to forgive her,
and that he felt for her with all his heart.

It was this gentleness that touched Mrs. Morton above all. Years had
softened her; perhaps, too, his patience, and the higher tone of Mr.
Deyncourt's ministry, and she was, in many respects, a different woman
from her who had so loudly protested against his marrying Mary Marshall.

CHAPTER XXXIX
THE HONOURABLE PAUPER

Lord Northmoor's card was given to the porter with an urgent request for
an interview with the Master of the workhouse.

He steadied his voice with difficulty when, on entering the office, he
said that he had come to make inquiry after his son, a child of three and
a half years old, who had been supposed to be drowned, but he had now
discovered had been stolen by a former nurse, and left at the gate of the
workhouse, and as the Master paused with an interrogative 'Yes, my Lord?'
he added--'On the night between the Wednesday and Thursday of Whitsun
week, May the--'

'Children are so often left,' said the Master. 'I will ascertain from
the books as to the date.'

After an interval really of scarcely a minute, but which might have been
hours to the father's feeling, he read--

'May 18th.--Boy, of apparently four years old, left on the steps, asleep,
apparently drugged.'

'Ah!'

'Calls himself Mitel Tent--name probably Michael Trenton.'

'Michael Kenton Morton.' Then he reflected, 'No doubt he thought he was
to say his catechism.'

'Does not seem to know parents' name nor residence. Dress--man's old
rough coat over a brown holland pinafore--no mark--feet bare; talks as if
carefully brought up. May I ask you to describe him.'

'Brown eyes, light hair, a good deal of colour, sturdy, large child,'
said Lord Northmoor, much agitated. 'There,' holding out a photograph.

'Ah!' said the Master, in assent.

'And where--is he here?'

'He is at the Children's Home at Fulwood Lodge. Perhaps I had better ask
one of the Guardians, who lives near at hand, to accompany you.'

This was done, the Guardian came, much interest