tory?"

"No," she replied, quickly; "I have never opened the box."

"Never opened it!" he exclaimed, wonderingly.

"No, sir--I have never even touched it; it is wrapped in my old shawl
just as I brought it away."

"But why have you never opened it?" he asked, still wondering.

"Because, sir, I did not wish to know who the little child really was,
lest, in discovering that, I should discover something also which would
compel me to give her up."

Lord Mountdean looked at her in astonishment. How woman-like she was!
How full of contradictions! What strength and weakness, what honor and
dishonor, what love and selfishness did not her conduct reveal!

"Then," continued Margaret Dornham, "when the doctor died, people
frightened me. They said that the child must go to the work-house. My
husband soon afterward got into dreadful trouble, and I determined to
leave the village. I tell the truth, sir. I was afraid, too, that you
would return and claim the child; so I took her away with me to London.
My husband was quite indifferent--I could do as I liked, he said. I took
her and left no trace behind. After we reached London, my husband got
into trouble again; but I always did my best for the darling child.
She was well dressed, well fed, well cared for, well educated--she has
had the training of a lady."

"But," put in Lord Mountdean, "did you never read my advertisments?"

"No, sir," she replied; "I have not been in the habit of reading
newspapers."

"It was strange that you should remain hidden in London while people
were looking for you," he said. "What was your husband's trouble, Mrs.
Dornham?"

"He committed a burglary, sir; and, as he had been convicted before, his
sentence was a heavy one."

"And my daughter, you say, is living, but not well? Where is she?"

"I will take you to her, sir," was the reply--"at once, if you will go."

"I will not lose a minute," said the earl, hastily. "It is time, Mrs.
Dornham, that you knew my name, and my daughter's also. I am the Earl of
Mountdean, and she is Lady Madaline Charlewood."

On hearing this, Margaret Dornham was more frightened than ever. She
rose from her knees and stood before him.

"If I have done wrong, my lord," she said, "I beg of you to pardon
me--it was all, as I thought, for the best. So the child whom I have
loved and cherished was a grand lady after all?"

"Do not let us lose a moment," he said. "Where is my daughter?"

"She lives not far from her