href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@49035@[email protected]#Page_92" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">92

IX. One More 110 X. Cousin Alfred's Secret 116 XI. The Doctor's Dinner 126 XII. The Other Child of Desertion 143 XIII. A Midnight Walk 157 XIV. The First Move 169 XV. Two Jumps and a Conclusion 185 XVI. A Wretch 199 XVII. The Second Blow 210 XVIII. A Gracious Lady 222 XIX. A Cabinet Council 241 XX. John Haveril Clears up Things 253 XXI. "To be off with the Old Love" 265 XXII. The Clan again 276 XXIII. One More Attempt 290 XXIV. A Horrid Night 300 XXV. The First Mother 313 XXVI. The Second Mother 322 Chapter the Last. Forgiveness 336

---

THE CHANGELING.

CHAPTER I.

WAS IT SUBSTITUTION?

"Pray be seated, madam." The doctor offered his visitor a chair. Then he closed the door, with perhaps a more marked manner than one generally displays in this simple operation. "I am happy to inform you," he began, "that the arrangements—the arrangements," he repeated with meaning, "are now completed."

The lady was quite young—not more than twenty-two or so—a handsome woman, a woman of distinction. Her face was full of sadness; her eyes were full of trouble; her lips trembled; her fingers nervously clutched the arms of the chair. When the doctor mentioned the arrangements, her cheek flushed and then paled. In a word, she betrayed every external sign of terror, sorrow, and anxiety.

"And when can I leave this place?"

"This day: as soon as you please."

"The woman made no objections?"

"None. You can have the child."

"I have told you my reasons for wishing to adopt this child"—he had never asked her reasons, yet at every interview she repeated them: "my own boy is dead. He is dead." There was a world of trouble in the repetition of the word.

The doctor bowed coldly. "Your reasons, madam," he said, "are sufficient for yourself. I have followed your instructions without asking for your reasons. That is to say, I have found the kind of child you want: light hair and blue eyes, apparently sound and healthy; at all events, the child of a sound and healthy mother. As for your reasons, I do not inquire."

"I thought you might like——"

"They are nothing to do with me. My business has been to find a child, and to arrange for your adoption of it. I have therefore, as I told you, arranged with a poor woman who is willing to part with her child."

"On my conditions?"

"Absolutely. That is—she will never see the child again; she will not ask who takes the child, or where it is taken, or in what position of life it will be brought up. She accepts your assurance that the child will be cared for, and treated kindly. She fully consents."

"Poor creature!"

"You will give her fifty pounds, and that single