It had been a terrible struggle for Margaret to give her up.
"I might as well have let her go back years ago to those to whom she
belonged," she said to herself, "as to let her go now."
Still, she stood in great awe of the Duchess of Hazlewood, who seemed to
her one of the grandest ladies in all England; and, when the duchess
told her it was selfish of her to stand in her daughter's light,
Margaret gave way and let her go. Many times, after she had parted with
her, she felt inclined to open the oaken box with brass clasps, and see
what the papers in it contained, but a nameless fear came over her. She
did not dare to do what she had not done earlier.
Madaline had constantly written to her, had 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.
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