u 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.

"Where is she?" he cried. "You cannot mean that she is dead? Not dead,
surely? I have not seen her since I left her, a little, feeble baby; but
she has lived in my heart through all these weary years of exile. My
whole soul has hungered and thirsted for her. By night and by day I have
dreamed of her, always with Madaline's face. She has spoken sweet words
to me in my dreams, always in Madaline's voice. I must see her. I cannot
bear this suspense. You do not answer me. Can it be that she too is
dead?"

"No, she is not dead," replied the rector. "I saw her two months since,
and she was then living--well, beautiful, and happy. No, the little one
is not dead."

"Then tell me, for pity's sake, where she is!" cried the earl, in an
agony of impatience.

"I cannot. Two months since I was at Ashwood Cottage Margaret Dornham's
worthless husband was in some great trouble. I went to console his wife;
and then I saw the little one. I held her in my arms, and thought, as I
looked at her, that I had never seen such a lovely face. Then I saw no
more of her; and my wonder was aroused on hearing some of the
tradespeople say that Mrs. Dornham had not been in town for some weeks.
I believed she was ill, and went to see. My wonder was as great as your
own at finding the house closed. Husband, wife, and child had
disappeared as though by magic from the place, leaving no clew or trace
behind them."

The rector was almost alarmed at the effect of his words. The young earl
fell back in his chair, looking as though the shadow of death had fallen
over him.

Chapter VI.

It was but a child, the rector thought to himself, whom its father had
seen but a few times. He did not understand that to Lord Mountdean this
child--his dying wife's legacy--was the one object in life, that she was
all that remained to him of a love that had been dearer than life
itself. Commonplace words of comfort rose to his lips, but the earl did
not even hear them. He looked up suddenly, with a ghastly pallor still
on his face.

"How foolish I am to alarm myself so gre