“But I am sure that something is wrong with Dr. Stapleton. He is not in the least like himself. He looks ten years older since Mary’s disappearance. And his charges are almost double what they were. He is making the poor pay now, which, you know, he never did before, for he has always been most attentive and kind to those who could not pay him. He is often away, and cannot be found; and when he is summoned he is absent-minded and disagreeable. And people say all this looks suspicious, especially as he and Mary were known to be great friends.” “Oh, my dear Mrs. Wythburn, every one will know that it is only a coincidence! Dr. Stapleton must have some trouble which he does not care to publish; but, of course, it has nothing to do with Mary. I am very sorry for him; he has always been so kind and good. But I hope for every reason that Mary will soon let you know where she is, and then all this will be made right.” Mr. Wythburn entered the house while they were talking, and he was in excellent spirits. “We shall be happy to see you in London, Margaret. We have not yet selected our town house, but when we have there will be a room for you in it. And we are going to catch Mary and chastise her. We have spoiled the child by sparing the rod. Now we shall alter all that!” “It is rather late to begin, is it not?” “Better late than never. But do you know, Margaret, I am coming to think that Mary is right. Some of us do not deserve to be called Christians, or to have any comfort, because we spend our lives on such a low level. Mary shall train up her parents in the way they should go.” “That will suit Mary very well, no doubt; for that is what all young people feel called upon to do in these days.” “And I think we needn’t be very unhappy about her. I am thankful that on her birthday I made over that money to her and gave her the cheque-book. She will not want for anything that money can buy, and that is a great comfort.” “Let me help you to get ready,” suggested Margaret; and before she left the boxes were packed, the carriage was ordered, and Mr. and Mrs. Wythburn were almost as jubilant as if they were going to London on their honeymoon. The hot afternoon was wearing towards evening when Margaret started on her homeward journey. She elected to walk, for it was delightful to be out of doors, and having nothing to cause her to hasten her steps, she might linger in the green lanes and sunny fields as long as she pleased, and so the burden of care was rolled away.