told her of her lover, had
described Lord Arleigh over and over again to her. On the eve of her
wedding-day she had written again; but, after that fatal marriage-day,
she had not told her secret. Of what use would it be to make her mother
more unhappy than she was--of what avail to tell her that the dark and
terrible shadow of her father's crime had fallen over her young life,
blighting it also?

Of all her mother's troubles she knew this would be the greatest so she
generously refrained from naming it. There was no need to tell her
patient, long-suffering, unhappy mother that which must prove like a
dagger in her gentle heart. So Margaret Dornham had one gleam of
sunshine in her wretched life. She believed that the girl she had loved
so dearly was unutterably happy. She had read the descriptions of Lord
Arleigh with tears in her eyes.

"That is how girls write of the men they love," she said--"my Madaline
loves him."

Madaline had written to her when the ceremony was over. She had no one
to make happy with her news but her distant mother. Then some days
passed before she heard again--that did not seem strange. There was, of
course, the going home, the change of scene, the constant occupation.
Madaline would write when she had time. At the end of a week she heard
again; and then it struck her that the letter was dull, unlike one
written by a happy bride--but of course she must be mistaken--why should
not Madaline be happy?

After that the letters came regularly, and Madaline said that the
greatest pleasure she had lay in helping her mother. She said that she
intended to make her a certain allowance, which she felt quite sure
would be continued to her after her death, should that event precede her
mother's; so that at last, for the weary-hearted woman, came an interval
of something like contentment. Through Madaline's bounty she was able to
move from her close lodgings in town to a pretty cottage in the country
Then she had a glimpse of content.

After a time her heart yearned to see the daughter of her adoption, the
one sunbeam of her life, and she wrote to that effect.

"I will come to you," wrote Madaline, in reply, "if you will promise me
faithfully to make no difference between me and the child Madaline who
used to come home from school years ago."

Margaret promised, and Madaline, plainly dressed, went to see her
mother. It was sweet, after those long, weary months of humiliation and
despair, to lay her h