Then, when the two years and a half had passed, and he began to take counsel with himself how he could best break the intelligence, the earl's health suddenly failed him, and he could not accomplish his purpose.
During this time he had every six months sent regular remittances to England, and had received in return most encouraging letters about little Madaline.

She was growing strong and beautiful; she was healthy, fair, and happy.

She could say his name; she could sing little baby-songs.

Once, the doctor cut a long golden-brown curl from her little head and sent it to him; but when he received it the earl lay dying, and the son could not show his father his little child's hair.

He died as he had lived, loving and trusting his son, clasping his hand to the last, and murmuring sweet and tender words to him.