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.

She thought of the old life in the pretty cottage at Ashwood, where for so short a time she had been happy with her handsome, ne'er-do-well husband, whom at first she had loved so blindly; she thought of the lovely, golden-haired child which she had loved so wildly, and of the kind, clever doctor, who had been so suddenly called to his account; and then her thoughts wandered to the stranger who had intrusted his child to her care.

Had she done wrong in leaving him all these years in such utter ignorance of his child's welfare?
Had she wronged him?
Ought she to have waited patiently until he had returned or sent?
If she were ever to meet him again, would he overwhelm her with reproaches?
She thought of his tall, erect figure, of his handsome face, so sorrowful and sad, of his mournful eyes, which always looked as though his heart lay buried with his dead wife.
Suddenly her face grew deathly pale, her lips flew apart with a terrified cry, her whole frame trembled.

She raised her hands as one who would fain ward off a blow, for, standing just before her, looking down on her with stern, indignant eyes, was the stranger who had intrusted his child to her.
For some minutes--how many she never knew--they stood looking at each other--he stern, indignant, haughty, she trembling, frightened, cowed.
"I recognize you again," he said, at length, in a harsh voice.
Cowed, subdued, she fell on her knees at his feet.
"Woman," he cried, "where is my child ?" She made him no answer, but covered her face with her hands.
"Where is my child ?" he repeated.