rst thing that
he did after his father's funeral was to go down to Castledene; he had
made all arrangements for bringing his daughter and heiress home. He was
longing most impatiently to see her; but when he reached the little town
a shock of surprise awaited him that almost cost him his life.

Chapter IV.

Dr. Letsom had prospered; one gleam of good fortune had brought with it
a sudden outburst of sunshine. The doctor had left his little house in
Castle street, and had taken a pretty villa just outside Castledene. He
had furnished it nicely--white lace curtains were no longer an
unattainable luxury; no house in the town looked so clean, so bright, or
so pretty as the doctor's People began to look up to him; it was rumored
that he had had money left to him--a fortune that rendered him
independent of his practice. No sooner was that quite understood than
people began to find out that after all he was a very clever man. No
sooner did they feel quite convinced that he was indifferent about his
practice than they at once appreciated his services; what had been
called abruptness now became truth and sincerity He was declared to be
like Dr. Abernethy--wonderfully clever, though slightly brusque in
manner. Patients began to admire him; one or two instances of wonderful
cures were noted in his favor; the world, true to itself, true to its
own maxims, began to respect him when it was believed that he had good
fortune for his friend. In one year's time he had the best practice in
the town, the ladies found his manner so much improved.

He bore his good-fortune as he had borne his ill-fortune, with great
equanimity; it had come too late. If but a tithe of it had fallen to his
share twelve years earlier, he might have made the woman he loved so
dearly his wife. She might have been living--- loving happy, by his
side. Nothing could bring her back--the good-fortune had come all too
late; still he was grateful for it. It was pleasant to be able to pay
his bills when they became due, to be able to help his poorer neighbors,
to be able to afford for himself little luxuries such as he had long
been without. The greatest happiness he had now in life was his love for
little Madeline. The hold she had taken of him was marvelous from the
first moment she held out her baby-hands until the last in which he saw
her she was his one dream of delight. At first he had visited Ashwood as
a matter of duty; but, as time passed on those vis