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Presently he went up to look at his wife, and, kneeling by her side, nature's great comforter came to him. He wept as though his heart would break tears that eased the burning brain, and lightened the heavy heart. Dr. Letsom was a skillful, kindly man; he let the tears flow, and made no effort to stop them.

Rapidly enough Lord Charlewood filled up another paper, which was signed by the doctor and himself; then Stephen Letsom gathered them all together. Margaret Dornham saw him take from the sideboard a plain oaken box bound in brass, and lock the papers in it. "There will be no difficulty about the little lady's identification while this lasts," he said, "and the papers remain undestroyed."

Letsom knew how the suffering of her daily life had increased even though she was comforted by the love of the little child. Madaline slept in her grave her child was safe and happy with the kindly, tender woman who was to supply its mother's place. Then Lord Charlewood prepared to leave the place where he had suffered so bitterly. The secret of his title had been well kept.

The face looking from the window was anything but a cheerful one. Perhaps it was not the most judicious manner in which the doctor could have spent his time above all, if he wished to give people an impression that he had a large practice. But Dr. Letsom had ceased to be particular in the matter of appearances. He was to all intents and purposes a disappointed man.

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.

A sweet voice, abrupt and clear, broke the silence of the solemn scene. "Hubert. Where is Hubert? I must see him." "Tell him to come," said Dr. Evans to Dr. Letsom, "but do not tell him there is any danger." A few minutes later Lord Charlewood stood by the side of his young wife. "Hubert," she said to him, with outstretched hands, "Hubert, my husband, I am so frightened.

I will make you a rich man for life if you will only help me now." "I will help you," said Dr. Letsom. For a moment his thoughts flew to the green grave under the stars. Riches would come too late, after all; they could not bring back life to the dead.

They had not darkened the room, after the usual ghostly fashion Stephen Letsom would not have it so but they had let in the fresh air and the sunshine, and had placed autumn flowers in the vases. The baby had been carried away the kind-hearted nurse had charge of it. Dr. Evans had gone home, haunted by the memory of the beautiful dead face.

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.

What matters it the seven-thousandth part of a farthing who is the spiritual head of any Church? Is not Mr. Wilberforce at the head of the Church of Clapham? Is not Dr. Letsom at the head of the Quaker Church? Is not the General Assembly at the head of the Church of Scotland?