a matter of duty; but, as time passed on those visits became his dearest
pleasures. The child began to know him, her lovely little face to
brighten for him; she had no fear of him, but would sit on his knee and
lisp her pretty stories and sing her pretty songs until he was fairly
enchanted.

Madaline was a lovely child. She had a beautiful head and face, and a
figure exquisitely molded. Her smiles were like sunshine; her hair had
in it threads of gold; her eyes were of the deep blue that one sees in
summer. It was not only her great loveliness, but there was about her a
wonderful charm, a fascination, that no one could resist.

Dr. Letsom loved the child. She sat on his knee and talked to him, until
the whole face of the earth seemed changed to him. Besides his great
love for the little Madaline, he became interested in the story of
Margaret Dornham's life--in her love for the handsome, reckless
ne'er-do-well who had given up work as a failure--in her wonderful
patience, for she never complained--in her sublime heroism, for she bore
all as a martyr. He heard how Henry Dornham was often seen
intoxicated--heard that he was abusive, violent. He went afterward to
the cottage, and saw bruises on his wife's delicate arms and hands--dark
cruel marks on her face; but by neither word nor look did she ever
betray her husband. Watching that silent, heroic life, he became
interested in her. More than once he tried to speak to her about her
husband--to see if anything could be done to reclaim him. She knew that
all efforts were in vain--there was no good in him; still more she knew
now that there never had been such good as she had hoped and believed.
Another thing pleased and interested the doctor--it was Margaret
Dornham's passionate love for her foster child. All the love that she
would have lavished on her husband, all the love that she would have