The child should not be left a burden and drag on his hands, he declared--it must go to the work-house.
But patient Margaret clasped her arms round his neck, and whispered to him that the child was so clever, so pretty, she would be a gold-mine to them in the future--only let them get away from Ashwood, and go to London, where she could be well trained and taught.

He laughed a sneering laugh, for which, had he been any other than her husband, she would have hated him.
"Not a bad plan, Maggie," he said; "then she can work to keep us.

I, myself, do not care where we go or what we do, so that no one asks me to work." He was easily persuaded to say nothing about their removal, to go to London without saying anything to his old friends and neighbors of their intentions.

Margaret knew well that so many were interested in the child that she would not be allowed to take her away if her wish became known.
How long the little cottage at Ashwood had been empty no one knows.

It stood so entirely alone that for weeks together nothing was seen or known of its inhabitants.