It was
a delightful morning, warm, brilliant, sunny. The hedge-rows were full
of wild roses, there was a faint odor of newly-mown hay, the westerly
wind was soft and sweet.
As Margaret Dornham walked through the woods, she fell deeply into
thought. Almost for the first time a great doubt had seized her, a doubt
that made her tremble and fear. Through many long years she had clung to
Madaline--she had thought her love and tender care of more consequence
to the child than anything else. Knowing nothing of her father's rank or
position, she had flattered herself into believing that she had been
Madaline's best friend in childhood. Now there came to her a terrible
doubt. What if she had stood in Madaline's light, instead of being her
friend? She had not been informed of the arrangements between the doctor
and his patron, but people had said to her, when the doctor died, that
the child had better be sent to the work-house--and that had frightened
her. Now she wondered whether she had done right or wrong. What if she,
who of all the world had been the one to love Madaline best, had been
her greatest foe?
Thinking of this, she walked along the soft greensward.
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