“Mardie’s mammie,” exclaimed the child, taking it and kissing it--“dear mammie!”--then, with infantile changeableness, she rushed with a little shriek to the door, where a kitten had just appeared, and with great delight picked up the downy little creature and caressed it. The advent of dinner soon attracted her attention, and she prattled away merrily in her baby language while the dishes were carried in. Mrs. Graham forced herself to talk to the child, and tried to divert her mind from its gloomy thoughts by devoting herself to the task of tending the little one. She was not a young woman, and the events of the day had proved almost too much for her nervous system; but with true unselfishness she tried to forget her own troubles in ministering to the tiny atom of humanity thrown so cruelly upon the world’s ocean, with mayhap no haven or port of love and affection to look to. She lifted Mardie on to a chair, and was about to give her some food, when the door opened, and, looking up in surprise, she saw a lady, young and handsome, attired in a riding habit, enter the room. CHAPTER II. “I must apologize for this intrusion,” began the stranger, as she closed the door; “but my errand, I trust, will excuse me.” “What may I do for you?” asked Mrs. Graham, rising. “Let me introduce myself,” said the young lady, with a pretty smile. “I am Lady Coningham, wife of Sir Hubert Coningham, of the Weald, Hurstley, a village about three miles out.” Mrs. Graham bowed. “I heard of the terrible accident while returning from a long run, and I rode over immediately to make inquiries. I have learned everything.” She stopped for an instant, and then asked: “Is that the child?” “Yes,” replied Mrs. Graham, briefly. “Poor thing!” murmured Lady Coningham, involuntarily. She moved forward and bent over the child, stroking back the rich, golden-red curls. “Poor wee thing! How pretty she is!” Mardie smiled and showed her pearly teeth as she rapped her spoon impatiently on the table. “Din-din,” she cried, eagerly; “Mardie so ’ungry!” Lady Coningham stood by while Mrs. Graham prepared the child’s meal. She said nothing, but two tears rolled down her cheeks and fell upon her well-gloved hand. As soon as the child was well started, she turned and motioned Mrs. Graham to the fireplace. “Can you tell me anything about her?” she asked, quickly. Mrs. Graham shook her head. “We have no idea,” she answered; then she spoke of the letter and the doctor’s intention of telegraphing to Mrs. Huntley. “Yes--yes, that will be best. My object in coming here, Mrs. Graham, was to speak about the child. I met Dr. Scott, who told me, briefly, of the mother’s death and your kindness; and I hurried here to see what I could do. Sir Hubert is one of the magistrates; therefore, as his wife, I consider it my duty to take up the case. Perhaps my efforts will not be required for long--I sincerely hope not--it will be a sad lookout for this baby if we cannot find her friends.”