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diff --git a/8711-0.txt b/8711-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa1b8c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/8711-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16337 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Living Link, by James De Mille + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Living Link + +Author: James De Mille + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8711] +This file was first posted on August 3, 2003 +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIVING LINK *** + + + + +Produced by Rich Magahiz, David Moynihan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE LIVING LINK. + +A Novel + +By James De Mille + +Author of “The Dodge Club,” “Cord and Creese,” “The Cryptogram,” “The +American Baron,” &c, &c. + + + +THE LIVING LINK. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +A TERRIBLE SECRET. + +On a pleasant evening in the month of May, 1840, a group of young ladies +might have been seen on the portico of Plympton Terrace, a fashionable +boarding-school near Derwentwater. They all moved about with those +effusive demonstrations so characteristic of young girls; but on this +occasion there was a general hush among them, which evidently arose from +some unusual cause. As they walked up and down arm in arm, or with arms +entwined, or with clasped hands, as young girls will, they talked in low +earnest tones over some one engrossing subject, or occasionally gathered +in little knots to debate some point, in which, while each offered a +differing opinion, all were oppressed by one common sadness. + +While they were thus engaged there arose in the distance the sound of a +rapidly galloping horse. At once all the murmur of conversation died +out, and the company stood in silence awaiting the new-comer. They did +not have to wait long. Out from a place where the avenue wound amidst +groves and thickets a young girl mounted on a spirited bay came at full +speed toward the portico. Arriving there, she stopped abruptly; then +leaping lightly down, she flung the reins over the horse's neck, who +forthwith galloped away to his stall. + +The rider who thus dismounted was young girl of about eighteen, and of +very striking appearance. Her complexion was dark, her hair black, with +its rich voluminous folds gathered in great glossy plaits behind. Her +eyes were of a deep hazel color, radiant, and full of energetic life. In +those eyes there was a certain earnestness of expression, however, +deepening down into something that seemed like melancholy, which showed +that even in her young life she had experienced sorrow. Her figure was +slender and graceful, being well displayed by her close-fitting +riding-habit, while a plumed hat completed her equipment, and served to +heighten the effect of her beauty. + +At her approach a sudden silence had fallen over the company, and they +all stood motionless, looking at her as she dismounted. + +“Why, what makes you all look at me so strangely?” she asked, in a tone +of surprise, throwing a hasty glance over them. “Has any thing +happened?” + +To this question no answer was given, but each seemed waiting for the +other to speak. At length a little thing of about twelve came up, and +encircling the new-comer's waist with her arm, looked up with a +sorrowful expression, and whispered, + +“Edith dearest, Miss Plympton wants to see you.” + +The silence and ominous looks of the others, and the whispered words of +the little girl, together with her mournful face, increased the surprise +and anxiety of Edith. She looked with a strange air of apprehension +over the company. + +“What is it?” she asked, hurriedly. “Something has happened. Do any of +you know? What is it?” + +She spoke breathlessly, and her eyes once more wandered with anxious +inquiry over all of them. But no one spoke, for, whatever it was, they +felt the news to be serious--something, in fact, which could not well be +communicated by themselves. Once more Edith repeated her question, and +finding that no answer was forth-coming, her impatience allowed her to +wait no longer; and so, gathering up her long skirts in one hand and +holding her whip in the other, she hurried into the house to see Miss +Plympton. + +Miss Plympton's room was on the second floor, and that lady herself was +seated by the window as Edith entered. In the young girl's face there +was now a deeper anxiety, and seating herself near the centre-table, she +looked inquiringly at Miss Plympton. + +The latter regarded her for some moments in silence. + +“Did you wish to see me, auntie dear?” said Edith. + +Miss Plympton sighed. + +“Yes,” she said, slowly; “but, my poor darling Edie, I hardly know how +to say to you what I have to say. I--I--do you think you can bear to +hear it, dear?” + +At this Edith looked more disturbed than ever; and placing her elbow on +the centre-table, she leaned her cheek upon her hand, and fixed her +melancholy eyes upon Miss Plympton. Her heart throbbed painfully, and +the hand against which her head leaned trembled visibly. But these signs +of agitation did not serve to lessen the emotion of the other; on the +contrary, she seemed more distressed, and quite at a loss how to +proceed. + +“Edith,” said she at last, “my child, you know how tenderly I love you. +I have always tried to be a mother to you, and to save you from all +sorrow; but now my love and care are all useless, for the sorrow has +come, and I do not know any way by which I can break bad news +to--to--a--a bereaved heart.” + +She spoke in a tremulous voice and with frequent pauses. + +“Bereaved!” exclaimed Edith, with white lips. “Oh, auntie! Bereaved! Is +it that? Oh, tell me all. Don't keep me in suspense. Let me know the +worst.” + +Miss Plympton looked still more troubled. “I--I--don't know what to +say,” she faltered. + +“You mean _death_!” cried Edith, in an excited voice; “and oh! I +needn't ask who. There's only one--only one. I had only one--only +one--and now--he is--gone!” + +“Gone,” repeated Miss Plympton, mechanically, and she said no more; for +in the presence of Edith's grief, and of other facts which had yet to be +disclosed--facts which would reveal to this innocent girl something +worse than even bereavement--words were useless, and she could find +nothing to say. Her hand wandered through the folds of her dress, and +at length she drew forth a black-edged letter, at which she gazed in an +abstracted way. + +“Let me see it,” cried Edith, hurriedly and eagerly; and before Miss +Plympton could prevent her, or even imagine what she was about, she +darted forward and snatched the letter from her hand. Then she tore it +open and read it breathlessly. The letter was very short, and was +written in a stiff, constrained hand. It was as follows: + +“DALTON HALL, _May_ 6, 1840. + +“Madame,--It is my painful duty to communicate to you the death of +Frederick Dalton, Esq., of Dalton Hall, who died at Hobart Town, Van +Diemen's Land, on the 2d of December, 1839. I beg that you will impart +this intelligence to Miss Dalton, for as she is now of age, she may wish +to return to Dalton Hall. + +“I remain, madame, + +“Your most obedient servant, + +“JOHN WIGGINS. + +“MISS PLYMPTON, _Plympton Terrace_.” + + +Of this letter Edith took in the meaning of the first three lines only. +Then it dropped from her trembling hands, and sinking into a chair, she +burst into a torrent of tears. Miss Plympton regarded her with a face +full of anxiety, and for some moments Edith wept without restraint; but +at length, when the first outburst of grief was past, she picked up the +letter once more and read it over and over. + +Deep as Edith's grief evidently was, this bereavement was not, after +all, so sore a blow as it might have been under other circumstances. +For this father whom she had lost was virtually a stranger. Losing her +mother at the age of eight, she had lived ever since with Miss Plympton, +and during this time her father had never seen her, nor even written to +her. Once or twice she had written to him a pretty childish letter, but +he had never deigned any reply. If in that unknown nature there had been +any thing of a father's love, no possible hint had ever been given of +it. Of her strange isolation she was never forgetful, and she felt it +most keenly during the summer holidays, when all her companions had gone +to their homes. At such times she brooded much over her loneliness, and +out of this feeling there arose a hope, which she never ceased to +cherish, that the time would come when she might join her father, and +live with him wherever he might be, and set herself to the task of +winning his affections. + +She had always understood that her father had been living in the East +since her mother's death. The only communication which she had with him +was indirect, and consisted of business letters which his English agent +wrote to Miss Plympton. These were never any thing more than short, +formal notes. Such neglect was keenly felt, and Edith, unwilling to +blame her father altogether, tried to make some one else responsible for +it. As she knew of no other human being who had any connection with her +father except this agent, she brought herself gradually to look upon him +as the cause of her father's coldness, and so at length came to regard +him with a hatred that was unreasoning and intense. She considered him +her father's evil genius, and believed him to be somehow at the bottom +of the troubles of her life. Thus every year this man, John Wiggins, +grew more hateful, and she accustomed herself to think of him as an evil +fiend, a Mephistopheles, by whose crafty wiles her father's heart had +been estranged from her. Such, then, was the nature of Edith's +bereavement; and as she mourned over it she did not mourn so much over +the reality as over her vanished hope. He was gone, and with him was +gone the expectation of meeting him and winning his affection. She +would never see him--never be able to tell how she loved him, and hear +him say with a father's voice that he loved his child! + +These thoughts and feelings overwhelmed Edith even as she held the +letter in her hand for a new perusal, and she read it over and over +without attaching any meaning to the words. At length her attention was +arrested by one statement in that short letter which had hitherto +escaped her notice. This was the name of the place where her father's +death had occurred--Van Diemen's Land. + +“I don't understand this,” said she. “What is the meaning of this--Van +Diemen's Land? I did not know that poor papa had ever left India.” + +Miss Plympton made no reply to this for some time, but looked more +troubled than ever. + +“What does it mean,” asked Edith again--“this Hobart Town, Van Diemen's +Land? What does it mean?” + +“Well, dear,” said Miss Plympton, in strangely gentle and mournful +voice, “you have never known much about your poor father, and you have +never known exactly where he has been living. He did not live in India, +dear; he never lived in India. He lived in--in--Van Diemen's Land.” + +Miss Plympton's tone and look affected Edith very unpleasantly. The +mystery about her father seemed to grow darker, and to assume something +of an ill-omened character. The name also--Van Diemen's Land--served to +heighten her dark apprehensions; and this discovery that she had known +even less than she supposed about her father made it seem as though the +knowledge that had thus been hidden could not but be painful. + +“What do you mean?” she asked again; and her voice died down to a +whisper through the vague fears that had been awakened. “I thought that +poor papa lived in India--that he held some office under government.” + +“I know that you believed so,” said Miss Plympton, regarding Edith with +a look that was full of pity and mournful sympathy. “That was what I +gave out. None of the girls have ever suspected the truth. No one knows +whose daughter you really are. They do not suspect that your father was +Dalton of Dalton Hall. They think that he was an Indian resident in the +Company's service. Yes, I have kept the secret well, dear--the secret +that I promised your dear mother on her death-bed to keep from all the +world, and from you, darling, till the time should come for you to know. +And often and often, dear, have I thought of this moment, and tried to +prepare for it; but now, since it has come, I am worse than unprepared. +But preparations are of no use, for oh, my darling, my own Edith, I must +speak, if I speak at all, from my heart.” + +These words were spoken by Miss Plympton in a broken, disconnected, and +almost incoherent manner. She stopped abruptly, and seemed overcome by +strong agitation. Edith, on her part, looked at her in equal agitation, +wondering at her display of emotion, and terrified at the dark +significance of her words. For from those words she learned this much +already--that her father had been living in Van Diemen's Land, a penal +colony; that around him had been a dark secret which had been kept from +her most carefully; that her parentage had been concealed most +scrupulously from the knowledge of her school-mates; and that this +secret which had been so guarded was even now overwhelming Miss Plympton +so that she shrunk from communicating it. All this served to fill the +mind of Edith with terrible presentiments, and the mystery which had +hitherto surrounded her father seemed now about to result in a +revelation more terrible than the mystery itself. + +After some time Miss Plympton rose, and drawing her chair nearer, sat +down in front of Edith, and took both her hands. + +“My poor darling Edith,” said she, in pitying tones, “I am anxious for +you. You are not strong enough for this. Your hands are damp and cold. +You are trembling. I would not have brought up this subject now, but I +have been thinking that the time has come for telling you all. But I'm +afraid it will be too much for you. You have already enough to bear +without having this in addition. You are too weak.” + +Edith shook her head. + +“Can you bear it?” asked Miss Plympton, anxiously, “this that I wish to +tell you? Perhaps I had better defer it.” + +“No,” said Edith, in a forced voice. “No--now--now--tell me now. I can +bear whatever it is better than any horrible suspense.” + +Miss Plympton sighed, and leaning forward, she kissed the pale forehead +of the young girl. Then, after a little further delay, during which she +seemed to be collecting her thoughts, she began: + +“I was governess once, Edith dearest, in your dear mamma's family. She +was quite a little thing then. All the rest were harsh, and treated me +like a slave; but she was like an angel, and made me feel the only real +happiness I knew in all those dreary days. I loved her dearly for her +gentle and noble nature. I loved her always, and I still love her +memory; and I love you as I loved her, and for her sake. And when she +gave you to me, on her death-bed, I promised her that I would be a +mother to you, dear. You have never known how much I love you--for I am +not demonstrative--but I do love you, my own Edith, most dearly, and I +would spare you this if I could. But, after all, it is a thing which you +must know some time, and before very long--the sooner the better.” + +“I wish to know it now,” said Edith, as Miss Plympton hesitated, +speaking in a constrained voice, the result of the strong pressure which +she was putting on her feelings--“now,” she repeated. “I can not wait. +I must know all to-day. What was it? Was it--crime?” + +“The charge that was against him,” said Miss Plympton, “involved crime. +But, my darling, you must remember always that an accusation is not the +same as a fact, even though men believe it; yes, even though the law may +condemn the accused, and the innocent may suffer. Edith Dalton,” she +continued, with solemn earnestness, “I believe that your father was as +innocent as you are. Remember that! Cling to that! Never give up that +belief, no matter what you may hear. There was too much haste and blind +passion and prejudice in that court where he was tried, and appearances +were dark, and there was foul treachery somewhere; and so it was that +Frederick Dalton was done to ruin and his wife done to death. And now, +my darling, you have to make yourself acquainted not with a father's +crimes, but with a father's sufferings. You are old enough now to hear +that story, and you have sufficient independence of character to judge +for yourself, dear. There is no reason why you should be overwhelmed +when you hear it--unless, indeed, you are overcome by pity for the +innocent and indignation against his judges. Even if society considers +your father's name a stained and dishonored one, there is no reason why +his daughter should feel shame, for you may take your stand on his own +declaration of innocence, and hold up your head proudly before the +world.” + +Miss Plympton spoke this with vehement emotion, and her words brought +some consolation to Edith. The horrible thought that had at first come +was that her father had been a convict in some penal settlement, but +this solemn assurance of his innocence mitigated the horror of the +thought, and changed it into pity. She said not a word, however, for her +feelings were still too strong, nor could she find voice for any words. +She sat, therefore, in silence, and waited for Miss Plympton to tell the +whole story. + +Miss Plympton surveyed Edith anxiously for a few moments, and then +rising, went over to an escritoire. This she unlocked, and taking from +it a parcel, she returned to her seat. + +“I am not going to tell you the story,” said she. “I can not bear to +recall it. It is all here, and you may read it for yourself. It was all +public ten years ago, and in this package are the reports of the trial. +I have read them over so often that I almost know them by heart; and I +know, too, the haste of that trial, and the looseness of that evidence. +I have marked it in places--for your eyes only, dearest--for I prepared +it for you, to be handed to you in case of my death. My life, however, +has been preserved, and I now give this into your own hands. You must +take it to your own room, and read it all over by yourself. You will +learn there all that the world believes about your father, and will see +in his own words what he says about himself. And for my part, even if +the testimony were far stronger, I would still take the word of +Frederick Dalton!” + +Miss Plympton held out the parcel, and Edith took it, though she was +scarce conscious of the act. An awful foreboding of calamity, the +mysterious shadow of her father's fate, descended over her soul. She was +unconscious of the kiss which Miss Plympton gave her; nor was she +conscious of any thing till she found herself seated at a table in her +own room, with the door locked, and the package lying on the table +before her. She let it lie there for a few moments, for her agitation +was excessive, and she dreaded to open it; but at length she mastered +her feelings, and began to undo the strings. + +The contents of the parcel consisted of sheets of paper, upon which were +pasted columns of printed matter cut from some newspaper. It was the +report of the trial of Frederick Dalton, upon charges which ten years +before had filled the public mind with horror and curiosity. In these +days the most cursory reader who took up the report came to the work +with a mind full of vivid interest and breathless suspense; but that +report now lay before the eyes of a far different reader--one who was +animated by feelings far more intense, since it was the daughter of the +accused herself. That daughter also was one who hitherto had lived in an +atmosphere of innocence, purity, and love, one who shrank in abhorrence +from all that was base or vile; and this was the one before whose eyes +was now placed the horrible record that had been made up before the +world against her father's name. + +The printed columns were pasted in such a way that a wide margin was +left, which was covered with notes in Miss Plympton's writing. To give +any thing like a detailed account of this report, with the annotations, +is out of the question, nor will any thing be necessary beyond a general +summary of the facts therein stated. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE CONTENTS OF THE MANUSCRIPT. + +On the date indicated in the report, then, the city of Liverpool and the +whole country were agitated by the news of a terrible murder. On the +road-side near Everton the dead body of a Mr. Henderson, an eminent +banker, had been found, not far from his own residence. The discovery +had been made at about eleven o'clock in the evening by some passers-by. +Upon examination a wound was found in the back of the head which had +been caused by a bullet. His watch and purse were still in their places, +but his pocket-book was gone. Clasped in one of the hands was a +newspaper, on the blank margin of which were some red letters, rudely +traced, and looking as though they had been written with blood. The +letters were these: + +“DALTON SHOT ME BEC--” + +It was evident that the writer intended to write the word “because,” and +give the reason why he had been shot, but that his strength had failed +in the middle of the word. + +A closer search revealed some other things. One was a small stick, the +point of which was reddened with a substance which microscopic +examination afterward showed to be blood. The other was a scarf-pin made +of gold, the head of which consisted of a Maltese cross, of very rich +and elegant design. In the middle was black enamel inclosed by a richly +chased gold border, and at the intersection of the bars was a small +diamond of great splendor. If this cross belonged to the murderer it had +doubtless become loosened, and fallen out while he was stooping over his +victim, and the loss had not been noticed in the excitement of the +occasion. + +At the coroner's inquest various important circumstances were brought to +light. The fact that his watch and purse remained made it plain that it +was not a case of common highway robbery, and the loss of the +pocket-book showed that the deed was prompted by a desire for something +more than ordinary plunder. Proceeding from this, various circumstances +arose which, in addition to the terrible accusation traced in blood, +tended to throw suspicion upon Frederick Dalton. + +It came out that on the morning of that very day Mr. Henderson had +discovered a check for two thousand pounds that had been forged in his +name. Being a very choleric man, he felt more than the anger which is +natural under such circumstances, and vowed vengeance to the uttermost +upon the forger. That same morning Mr. Frederick Dalton came to see him, +and was shown into his private office. He had just arrived in the city, +and had come on purpose to pay this visit. The interview was a +protracted one, and the clerks outside heard the voice of Mr. Henderson +in a very high key, and in a strain of what sounded like angry menace +and denunciations of vengeance, though they could not make out any +words. At last the office door opened, and Dalton came out. He was very +pale, and much agitated. One of the clerks heard him say, in a low +voice, + +“_Only one day--till this time to-morrow_.” + +Whereupon Mr. Henderson roared out in a loud voice, which all the clerks +heard, + +“_No, Sir! Not one day, not one hour, if I die for it!_” + +Upon this Dalton walked away, looking paler and more agitated than ever. + +In the course of the day Mr. Henderson told his confidential clerk that +the check had just been used by Dalton, who, however, denied that he was +the forger; that the visit of Dalton professed to be on behalf of the +guilty party, whom he wished to screen. Dalton had refused to give the +culprit's name, and offered to pay the amount of the check, or any +additional sum whatever, if no proceedings were taken. This, however, +Mr. Henderson refused, and in his indignation charged Dalton himself +with the crime. Under these circumstances the interview had terminated. + +Thus the evidence against Dalton was the forged check, the clerks' +reports concerning the exciting interview with Mr. Henderson, the awful +accusation of the deceased himself, written in his own blood, together +with the Maltese cross, which was believed to belong to Dalton. The +arrest of Dalton had been made at the earliest possible moment; and at +the trial these were the things which were made use of against him by +the prosecution. By energetic efforts discovery was made of a jeweler +who recognized the Maltese cross as his own work, and swore that he had +made it for Frederick Dalton, in accordance with a special design +furnished him by that gentleman. The design had been kept in his +order-book ever since, and was produced by him in court. Thus the +testimony of the jeweler and the order-book served to fix the ownership +of the Maltese cross upon Dalton in such a way that it corroborated and +confirmed all the other testimony. + +On the other hand, the defense of Dalton took up all these points. In +the first place, it was shown that in his case there was no conceivable +temptation that could have led to the commission of such a crime. He was +a man of great wealth, possessed of a fine estate, and free from all +pecuniary embarrassments. He was not what was called a sporting man, +and therefore could not have secretly accumulated debts while appearing +rich. It was shown, also, that his character was stainless; that he was +essentially a domestic man, living quietly at Dalton Hall with his wife +and child, and therefore, from his worldly means as well as from his +personal character and surroundings, it was morally impossible for him +to have forged the check. + +With reference to the interview with Mr. Henderson, it was maintained +that it arose, as he himself said, from a desire to shield the real +culprit, whom he knew, and for whom he felt a strong and unusual regard. +Who this culprit was the defense did not assert, nor could they imagine, +though they tried every possible way of finding him out. Whoever he was, +he appeared to be the only one who could have had a motive strong enough +for the murder of Mr. Henderson. The unknown assassin had evidently done +the deed so as to obtain possession of the forged check, and prevent its +being used against him. In this he was unsuccessful, since the check had +already been intrusted to the hands of others; but the aim of the +assassin was sufficiently evident. + +Again, as to the writing in blood, a vigorous effort was made to show +that this was a conspiracy against an innocent man. It was argued that +Mr. Henderson did not write it at all; and efforts were made to prove +that the wound in his head must have caused instantaneous death. He +himself, therefore, could not have written it, but it must have been the +work of some one who was plotting against Dalton, or who was eager to +divert suspicion from himself. + +The testimony of the Maltese cross was met by counter-testimony to the +effect that Dalton had never worn such an ornament. His servants all +swore that they had never seen it before. Mr. Henderson's clerks also +swore that Mr. Dalton wore no pin at all on that morning of the +interview. + +And, finally, an effort was made to prove an _alibi_. It was shown +that Dalton's occupation of his time during that evening could be +accounted for with the exception of one hour. Witnesses were produced +from the hotel where he put up who swore that he had been there until +eight o'clock in the evening, when he left, returning at nine. An hour, +therefore, remained to be accounted for. As to this hour--on the one +hand, it seemed hardly sufficient for the deed, but yet it was certainly +possible for him to have done it within that time; and thus it remained +for the defense to account for that hour. For this purpose a note was +produced, which was scribbled in pencil and addressed to John Wiggins, +Esq. + +It was as follows: + +“Dear Wiggins,--I have been here ever since eight, and am tired of +waiting. Come to my room as soon as you get back. I'll be there. + +“Yours, F. DALTON.” + +Mr. John Wiggins testified that he had made an appointment to meet +Dalton at the hour mentioned in the note, but had been detained on +business until late. He had found this on his return thrust under the +office door. On going to see him the following morning he had learned of +his arrest. + +This note and the testimony of Wiggins were felt to bear strongly in +Dalton's favor. If the accused had really been waiting at the office, +as the note stated, then clearly he could not have followed on Mr. +Henderson's track to Everton. The force of this weighed more than any +thing else with the court; the summing up of the judge also bore +strongly toward an acquittal; and, consequently, Dalton was declared not +guilty. + +But the acquittal on this first charge did not at all secure the escape +of Dalton from danger. Another charge, which had been interwoven with +the first, still impended over him, and no sooner was he declared free +of murder than he was arrested on the charge of forgery, and remanded to +prison to await his trial on that accusation. + +Now during the whole course of the trial the public mind had been +intensely excited; all men were eager than vengeance should fall on some +one, and at the outset had made up their minds that Dalton was guilty. +The verdict of acquittal created deep and widespread dissatisfaction, +for it seemed as though justice had been cheated of a victim. When, +therefore, the trial for forgery came on, there weighed against Dalton +all the infamy that had been accumulating against him during the trial +for murder. Had this trial stood alone, the prisoner's counsel might +have successfully pleaded his high character, as well as his wealth, +against this charge, and shown that it was false because it was morally +impossible. But this was no longer of avail, and in the public mind +Frederick Dalton was deemed only a desperate murderer, whose good +reputation was merely the result of life-long hypocrisy, and whose +character was but an empty name. + +And so in this trial it was shown that Dalton had first put forth the +forged check, and afterward learning that it was discovered prematurely, +had hurried to Liverpool so as to get it back from Mr. Henderson. His +asserted wealth was not believed in. Efforts were made to show that he +had been connected with men of desperate fortunes, and had himself been +perhaps betting heavily; and all this arts which ate usually employed by +unscrupulous or excited advocates to crush an accused man were freely +put forth. Experts were brought from London to examine Dalton's +handwriting, and compare it with that of the forged check; and these men +yielding to the common prejudice, gave it as their opinion that he was, +or _might have been_(!), the author of the forgery. + +But all this was as nothing when compared with the injury which Dalton +himself did to his own cause by the course which he chose to adopt. +Contenting himself with the simple assertion of his innocence, he +refused to give the name of the guilty man, or to say any thing that +might lead to his discovery. Actuated by a lofty sense of honor, a +chivalrous sentiment of loyalty and friendship, he kept the secret with +obstinate fidelity; and the almost frantic appeals of his counsel, who +saw in the discovery of the real offender the only chance for the escape +of the accused, and who used every possible argument to shake his +resolve, availed not in the slightest degree to shake his firmness. +They employed detectives, and instituted inquiries in all directions in +the endeavor to find out who might be this friend for whom Dalton was +willing to risk honor and life; but their search was completely baffled. +Dalton's silence was therefore taken as an evidence of guilt, and his +refusal to confess on a friend was regarded as a silly attempt to excite +public sympathy. When the counsel ventured to bring this forward to the +jury, and tried to portray Dalton as a man who chose rather to suffer +than to say that which might bring a friend to destruction, it was +regarded as a wild, Quixotic, and maudlin piece of sentimentalism on the +part of said counsel, and was treated by the prosecution with +unspeakable scorn and ridicule. Under such circumstances the result was +inevitable: Frederick Dalton was declared guilty, and sentenced to +transportation for life. + +Among the notes which had been written by Miss Plympton, Edith was very +forcibly struck by some which referred to John Wiggins. + +“Who is this J.W.?” was written in one place. “How did F.D. become +acquainted with him?” + +In another place, where Wiggins gave his testimony about the note, was +written: “Where was J.W. during that hour? Had he gone to Everton +himself?” + +And again: “J.W. was the friend of F.D., and wished to save him. Might +he not have done more?” + +Again: “Mark well! J.W. is a Liverpool man. H. was a Liverpool man. Had +F.D. ever heard of even the name of H. before the forgery? What was the +nature of the dealings between F.D. and J.W.?” + +Again, when Dalton's silence was so sharply commented on and urged as +proof of his guilt, there occurred the following: “If F.D. was silent, +why did not J.W. open his mouth? Must he not have known at least +something? Could he not have set the authorities upon the track of the +real criminal, and thus have saved F.D.?” + +Again: “The Maltese cross did not belong to Dalton. He had ordered it to +be made. For whom? Was it not for this same friend for whom he was now +suffering? Was not this friend the murderer? Has he not thrown suspicion +upon F.D. by that writing in blood? The same one who committed the +murder wrote the false charge, and left the Maltese cross.” + +Other notes of similar character occurred in various places, but those +which impressed Edith most were the following: + +“F.D. was evidently betrayed by his false friend. Was not that false +friend the real murderer? Did he not contrive to throw on F.D. the +suspicion of the murder? Might not the forgery itself from the very +beginning have been part of a plan to ruin F.D.? But why ruin him? +Evidently to gain some benefit. Now who has been more benefited by the +ruin of F.D.? Whoever he is, must he not he be the murderer and the +false friend?” + +Again, a little further on: “Has any one gained any thing from the ruin +of F.D. but J.W.? Has not J.W. ever since had control of Dalton +property? Is he not rich now? Has not the ruin of F.D. made the fortune +of J.W.?” + +Such was the substance of the papers which Edith perused. They were +voluminous, and she continued at her task all through that night, her +heart all the time filled with a thousand contending emotions. + +Before her mind all the time there was the image of her father in the +judgment-hall. There he stood, the innocent man, betrayed by his +friend, and yet standing there in his simple faith and truth to save +that friend, obstinate in his self-sacrificing fidelity, true to faith +when the other had proved himself worthless, suffering what can only be +suffered by a generous nature as the hours and the days passed and the +end approached, and still the traitor allowed him to suffer. And there +was the hate and scorn of man, the clamor for vengeance from society, +the condemnation of the jury who had prejudged his case, the sneer of +the paid advocate, the scoff of the gaping crowd, to whom the plea of +_noblesse oblige_ and stainless honor and perfect truth seemed only +maudlin sentimentality and Quixotic extravagance. + +All these thoughts were in Edith's mind as she read, and these feelings +swelled within her indignant heart as all the facts in that dread +tragedy were slowly revealed one by one. Coming to this task with a mind +convinced at the outset of her father's innocence, she met with not one +circumstance that could shake that conviction for a moment. In her own +strong feeling she was incapable of understanding how any one could +honestly think otherwise. The testimony of adverse witnesses seemed to +her perjury, the arguments of the lawyers fiendish malignity, the last +summing up of the judge bitter prejudice, and the verdict of the jury a +mockery of justice. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +THE MOMENTOUS RESOLVE. + +Early on the following morning Miss Plympton called on Edith, and was +shocked to see the changes that had been made in her by that one night. +She did not regard so much the pallor of her face, the languor of her +manner, and her unelastic step, but rather the new expression that +appeared upon her countenance, the thoughtfulness of her brow, the deep +and earnest abstraction of her gaze. In that one night she seemed to +have stepped from girlhood to maturity. It was as though she had lived +through the intervening experience. Years had been crowded into hours. +She was no longer a school-girl--she was a woman. + +Miss Plympton soon retired, with the promise to come again when Edith +should feel stronger. Breakfast was sent up, and taken away untasted, +and at noon Miss Plympton once more made her appearance. + +“I have been thinking about many things,” said Edith, after some +preliminary remarks, “and have been trying to recall what I can of my +own remembrance of papa. I was only eight years old, but I have a pretty +distinct recollection of him, and it has been strengthened by his +portrait, which I always have had. Of my mother I have a most vivid +remembrance, and I have never forgotten one single circumstance +connected with her last illness. I remember your arrival, and my +departure from home after all was over. But there is one thing which I +should like very much to ask you about. Did none of my mother's +relatives come to see her during this time?” + +“Your mother's relatives acted very badly indeed, dear. From the first +they were carried away by the common belief in your dear father's guilt. +Some of them came flying to your mother. She was very ill at the time, +and these relatives brought her the first news which she received. It +was a severe blow. They were hard-hearted or thoughtless enough to +denounce your father to her, and she in her weak state tried to defend +him. All this produced so deplorable an effect that she sank rapidly. +Her relatives left her in this condition. She tried to be carried to +your dear father in his prison, but could not bear the journey. They +took her as far as the gates, but she fainted there, and had to be taken +back to the house. So then she gave up. She knew that she was going to +die, and wrote to me imploring me to come to her. She wished to intrust +you to me. I took you from her arms--” + +Miss Plympton paused, and Edith was silent for some time. + +“So,” said she, in a scarce audible voice, “darling mamma died of a +broken heart?” + +Miss Plympton, said nothing. A long silence followed. + +“Had my father no friends,” asked Edith, “or no relatives?” + +“He had no relatives,” said Miss Plympton, “but an only sister. She +married a Captain Dudleigh, now Sir Lionel Dudleigh. But it was a very +unhappy marriage, for they separated. I never knew the cause; and +Captain Dudleigh took it so much to heart that he went abroad. He could +not have heard of your father's misfortunes till all was over and it was +too late. But in any case I do not see what he could have done, unless +he had contrived to shake your father's resolve. As to his wife, I have +never heard of her movements, and I think she must have died long ago. +Neither she nor her husband is mentioned at the trial. If they had been +in England, it seems to me that they would have come forward as +witnesses in some way; so I think they were both out of the country. Sir +Lionel is alive yet, I think, but he has always lived out of the world. +I believe his family troubles destroyed his happiness, and made him +somewhat misanthropical. I have sometimes thought in former years that +he might make inquiries about you, but he has never done so to my +knowledge, though perhaps he has tried without being able to hear where +you were. After all, he would scarcely know where to look. On the whole, +I consider Sir Lionel the only friend you have, Edith darling, besides +myself, and if any trouble should ever arise, he would be the one to +whom I should apply for assistance, or at least advice.” + +Edith listened to this, and made no comment, but after another +thoughtful pause she said, + +“About this Wiggins--have you ever heard any thing of him since the--the +trial?” + +Miss Plympton shook her head. + +“No,” said she, “except from those formal business notes. You have seen +them all, and know what they are.” + +“Have you ever formed any opinion of him more favorable than what you +wrote in those notes?” + +“I do not think that I wrote any thing more than suspicions or +surmises,” said Miss Plympton; “and as far as suspicions are concerned, +I certainly have not changed my mind. The position which he occupied +during the trial, and ever since, excites my suspicions against him. All +others suffered; he alone was benefited. And now, too, when all is over, +he seems still in his old position--perhaps a better one than ever--the +agent of the estates, and assuming to some extent a guardianship over +you. At least he gives directions about you, for he says you are to go +back to Dalton Hall. But in that he shall find himself mistaken, for I +will never allow you to put yourself in his power.” + +“Have you ever seen him?” asked Edith. + +“No.” + +She bent down her head, and leaned her forehead on her hand. + +“Well,” said she, in a low voice, half to herself, “it don't matter; I +shall see him soon myself.” + +“See him yourself!” said Miss Plympton, anxiously. “What do you mean?” + +“Oh, I shall see him soon--when I get to Dalton Hall.” + +“Dalton Hall?” + +“Yes,” said Edith, simply, raising her head and looking calmly at Miss +Plympton. + +“But you are not going to Dalton Hall.” + +“There is no other place for me,” said Edith, sadly. “I am going--I am +going as soon as possible.” + +“Oh no--oh no, darling; you are going to do nothing of the kind,” said +Miss Plympton. “I can not let you go. We all love you too dearly. This +is your home, and I now stand in the place of those whom you have lost. +You are never to leave me, Edith dearest.” + +Edith sighed heavily, and shook her head. + +“No,” she said, speaking in a low, melancholy voice--“no, I can not +stay. I can not meet my friends here again. I am not what I was +yesterday. I am changed. It seems as though some heavy weight has come +upon me. I must go away, and I have only one place to go to, and that is +my father's home.” + +“My darling,” said Miss Plympton, drawing her chair close to Edith, and +twining her arms about her, “you must not talk so; you can not imagine +how you distress me. I can not let you go. Do not think of these +things. We all love you. Do not imagine that your secret will be +discovered. No one shall ever know it. In a few days you yourself will +feel different. The consciousness of your father's innocence will make +you feel more patient, and the love of all your friends will make your +life as happy as ever.” + +“No,” said Edith, “I can not--I can not. You can not imagine how I +dread to see the face of any one of them. I shall imagine that they know +all; and I can not tell them. They will tease me to tell them my +troubles, and it will only worry me. No, for me to stay here is +impossible. I would go any where first.” + +She spoke so firmly and decisively that Miss Plympton forbore to press +her further just then. + +“At any rate, my darling,” said she, “you need not think of Dalton Hall. +I can find you other places which will be far more suitable to you in +every way. If it distresses you to stay here, I can find a happy home +for you, where you can stay till you feel able to return to us again.” + +“There is no place,” said Edith, “where I can stay. I do not want to go +among strangers, or to strange places. I have a home, and that is the +only place that I can go to now. That home is familiar to me. I remember +it well. It is where I was born. Dear mamma's room is there, where I +used to sit with her and hear her voice. My dear papa and mamma were +happy there; and she died there. It has its own associations; and now +since this great sorrow has come, I long to go there. It seems the +fittest place for me.” + +“But, my child,” said Miss Plympton, anxiously, “there is one thing that +you do not consider. Far be it from me to stand in the way of any of +your wishes, especially at a time like this, but is seems to me that a +return to Dalton Hall just now is hardly safe.” + +“Safe!” + +Edith spoke in a tone of surprise, and looked inquiringly at Miss +Plympton. + +“I don't like this John Wiggins,” said Miss Plympton, uneasily; “I am +afraid of him.” + +“But what possible cause can there be of fear?” asked Edith. + +“Oh, I don't know,” said Miss Plympton, with a sigh; “no one can tell. +If my suspicions are at all correct, he is a man who might be very +dangerous. He has control of all the estates, and--” + +“But for that very reason I would go home,” said Edith, “if there were +no stronger inducement, to do what I can to put an end to his +management.” + +“How could you do any thing with him?” asked Miss Plympton; “you so +young and inexperienced.” + +“I don't know,” said Edith, simply; “but the estates are mine, and not +his; and Dalton Hall is mine; and if I am the owner, surely I ought to +have some power. There are other agents in the world, and other lawyers. +They can help me, if I wish help. We are not living in the Middle Ages +when some one could seize one's property by the strong hand and keep it. +There is law in the country, and Wiggins is subject to it.” + +“Oh, my child,” said Miss Plympton, anxiously, “I am terrified at the +very thought of your being in that man's power. You can not tell what +things are possible; and though there is law, as you say, yet it does +not always happen that one can get justice.” + +“That I know, or ought to know,” said Edith, in a mournful voice; “I +have learned that this past night only too well.” + +“It seems to me,” said Miss Plympton, with the same anxiety in her +voice, “that to return to Dalton Hall will be to put yourself in some +way into his power. If he is really the unscrupulous, crafty, and +scheming man that I have suspected him to be, he will not find it +difficult to weave some plot around you which may endanger your whole +life. There is no safety in being bear that man. Be mistress of Dalton +Hall, but do not go there till you have driven him away. It seems by his +last letters as though he is living there now, and if you go there you +will find yourself in some sense under his control.” + +“Well,” said Edith, “I do not doubt his willingness to injure me if he +can, or to weave a plot which shall ruin me; but, after all, such a +thing takes time. He can not ruin me in one day, or in one week, and so +I think I can return to Dalton Hall in safety, and be secure for a few +days at least.” + +Miss Plympton made some further objections, but the vague fears to which +she gave expression met with no response from Edith, who looked upon her +journey home in a very sober and commonplace light, and refused to let +her imagination terrify her. Her argument that Wiggins would require +some time to injure her was not easy to answer, and gradually Miss +Plympton found herself forced to yield to Edith's determination. In fact, +there was much in that resolve which was highly natural. Edith, in the +first place, could not bear to resume her intimacy with her +school-mates, for reasons which she had stated already; and, in addition +to this, she had a strong and irresistible longing to go to the only +place that was now her home. There she hoped to find peace, and gain +consolation in the midst of the scenes of her childhood and the memories +of her parents. These were her chief motives for action now; but in +addition to these she had others. The chief was a strong desire to +dismiss Wiggins from his post of agent. + +The detestation which she had already conceived for this man has been +noticed in a previous chapter. It had grown during past years out of a +habit of her mind to associate with him the apparent alienation of her +father. But now, since her father's past life was explained, this John +Wiggins appeared in a new light. The dark suggestions of Miss Plympton, +her suspicions as to his character and motives, had sunk deep into the +soul of Edith, and taken root there. She had not yet been able to bring +herself to think that this John Wiggins was himself the treacherous +friend, but she was on the high-road to that belief, and already had +advanced far enough to feel convinced that Wiggins could have at least +saved her father if he had chosen. One thing, however, was evident to +all the world, and that was what Miss Plympton laid so much stress on, +the fact that he had profited by her father's ruin, and had won gold and +influence and position out of her father's tears and agonies and death. +And so, while she longed to go home for her own consolation, there also +arose within her another motive to draw her there--the desire to see +this Wiggins, to confront him, to talk to him face to face, to drive him +out from the Dalton estates, and if she could not vindicate her father's +memory, at least put an end to the triumph of one of his false friends. + +The result of this interview was, then, that Edith should return to +Dalton Hall; and as she was unwilling to wait, she decided to leave in +two days. Miss Plympton was to go with her. + +“And now,” said Miss Plympton, “we must write at once and give notice of +your coming.” + +“Write?” said Edith, coldly, “to whom?” + +“Why, to--to Wiggins, I suppose,” said Miss Plympton, with some +hesitation. + +“I refuse to recognize Wiggins,” said Edith. “I will not communicate +with him in any way. My first act shall be to dismiss him.” + +“But you must send some notice to some one; you must have some +preparations made.” + +“Oh, I shall not need any elaborate preparations; a room will be +sufficient. I should not wish to encounter the greetings of this man, or +see him complacently take credit to himself for his attentions to +me--and his preparations. No; I shall go and take things as I find them, +and I should prefer to go without notice.” + +At this Miss Plympton seemed a little more uneasy than before, and made +further efforts to change Edith's decision, but in vain. She was, in +fact, more perplexed at Edith herself than at any other thing; for this +one who but a day before had been a gentle, tractable, docile, gay, +light-hearted girl had suddenly started up into a stern, self-willed +woman, with a dauntless spirit and inflexible resolve. + +“There is only one more thing that I have to mention,” said Edith, as +Miss Plympton rose to go. “It is a favor that I have to ask of you. It +is this;” and she laid her hand on the papers of the report, which were +lying rolled up in a parcel on the table. “Have you any further use for +this? Will you let me keep it?” + +“The need that I had for it,” said Miss Plympton, “was over when I gave +it to you. I prepared it for you, and preserved it for you, and now +that you have it, its work is accomplished. It is yours, dearest, for +you to do as you choose with it.” + +To this Edith murmured some words of thanks, and taking up the parcel, +proceeded to tie it up more carefully. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +THE WELCOME HOME. + +Dalton Hall was one of the most magnificent country-seats in +Somersetshire. The village of Dalton, which bears the same name as the +old family seat, is situated on the banks of a little river which winds +through a pleasant plain on its course to the Bristol Channel, and at +this place is crossed by a fine old rustic bridge with two arches. The +village church, a heavy edifice, with an enormous ivy-grown tower, +stands on the further side; and beyond that the gables and chimneys of +Dalton Hall may be seen rising, about a mile away, out of the midst of a +sea of foliage. The porter's lodge is about half a mile distant from the +church, and the massive wall which incloses Dalton Park runs along the +road for some miles. + +There was a railway station about four miles away from the village, and +it was at this station that Edith arrived on her way home. Miss Plympton +had come with her, with the intention of remaining long enough to see +Edith comfortably installed in her new abode, and with the hope of +persuading her to go back if circumstances did not seem favorable. A +footman and a maid also accompanied them. + +On reaching the station they found themselves at first at a loss how to +proceed, for there were no carriages in waiting. Of course, as no notice +had been sent of her journey, Edith could not expect to find any +carriage from Dalton Hall; nor did she think much about this +circumstance. Dressed in deep mourning, with her pale face and dark, +thoughtful eyes, she seemed to be given up to her own mournful +reflections; and on finding that they would have to wait, she seated +herself on a bench, and looked with an abstracted gaze upon the +surrounding scene. Miss Plympton gave some directions to the footman, +who at once went off to seek a carriage; after which she seated herself +near Edith, while the maid sat on a trunk at a little distance. They had +traveled all day long, and felt very much fatigued; so that nothing was +said by any of them as they sat there waiting for the footman's return. +At length, after about half an hour, a hackney-coach drove up, which the +footman had procured from an inn not far away, and in this undignified +manner they prepared to complete their journey. A long drive of four or +five miles now remained; and when at length they reached the park gate +none of them had much strength left. Here the coach stopped, and the +footman rang the bell loudly and impatiently. + +There was no immediate answer to this summons, and the footman rang +again and again; and finally, as the delay still continued, he gave the +bell a dozen tremendous pulls in quick succession. This brought an +answer, at any rate; for a man appeared, emerging from a neighboring +grove, who walked toward the gate with a rapid pace. He was a short, +bull-necked, thickset, broad-shouldered man, with coarse black hair and +heavy, matted beard. His nose was flat on his face, his chin was square, +and he looked exactly like a prize-fighter. He had a red shirt, with a +yellow spotted handkerchief flung about his neck, and his corduroy +trowsers were tucked into a pair of muddy boots. + +The moment he reached the gate he roared out a volley of the most +fearful oaths: Who were they? What did they mean, _dash_ them? What +the _dash dash_ did they mean by making such a _dash dash_ +noise? + +“You'll get your ugly head broken, you scoundrel!” roared the footman, +who was beside himself with rage at this insult to his mistress, coming +as it did at the close of so long and irritating a delay. “Hold your +infernal tongue, and open the gate at once. Is this the way you dare to +talk before your mistress?” + +“Mistress! You _dashed_ fool,” was the response, “what the +_dash_ do I know about mistresses? I'll make a beginning with you, +you sleek, fat powder-monkey, with your shiny beaver and stuffed +calves!” + +Edith heard all this, and her amazement was so great that it drove away +all fatigue. Her heart beat high and her spirit rose at this insult. +Opening the carriage door, she sprang out, and, walking up to the gate, +she confronted the porter as a goddess might confront a satyr. The calm, +cold gaze which she gave his was one which the brute could not +encounter. He could face any one of his own order; but the eye that now +rested on him gave him pain, and his glance fell sulkily before that of +his mistress. + +“I am your mistress--Miss Dalton,” said Edith. “Open that gate +immediately.” + +“I don't know any thing about mistresses,” said the fellow. “My orders +are not to open them gates to nobody.” + +At this rebuff Edith was for a moment perplexed, but soon rallied. She +reflected that this man was a servant under orders, and that it would be +useless to talk to him. She must see the principal. + +“Who gave those orders?” she asked. + +“Mr. Wiggins,” said the man, gruffly. + +“Is that man here now?” asked Edith. + +The man looked up suspiciously and in evident surprise, but his eyes +fell again. + +“Mr. Wiggins? He is here; he lives here.” + +“Then do you go at once,” said Edith, loftily, “and say to that man that +Miss Dalton is here.” + +The fellow glanced furtively at the carriage, where he saw the pale face +of Miss Plympton and the paler face of the maid, and then with a grunt +he turned and walked up the avenue. Edith went back to the carriage and +resumed her seat. + +This scene had produced a profound effect upon her two companions. Miss +Plympton's worst apprehensions seemed justified by this rude repulse at +the gates, and the moment that Edith came back she began to entreat her +to return. + +“Come back,” she said, “to the inn. Do, darling, at least for the night, +till we can send word to Wiggins.” + +“No,” said Edith, firmly; “I will not recognize Wiggins at all. I am +going to dismiss him the moment that I enter the Hall. I can wait +patiently just now.” + +“But at least come back for this night. You may be sure that they will +not be ready for you. You will have to come back after all.” + +“Well,” said Edith, “I shall at least take formal possession of Dalton +Hall first, and let Wiggins see that I am mistress there.” + +Miss Plympton sighed. Every hour only showed in a stronger manner how +hopeless was any attempt of hers to move Edith from any resolve that she +might make. Already she recognized in that slender young girl the +stubborn spirit of her father--a spirit which would meet death and +destruction rather than swerve from its set purpose. + +Nothing more was said, but they all waited patiently for the porter's +return. It seemed a very long time. The footman fussed and fumed, and at +length beguiled the time by smoking and chatting with the coachman, whom +he questioned about Mr. Wiggins. The coachman, however, could give him +no information on the subject. “I only know,” said he, “as how that this +yer Wiggins is a Liverpool gent, an' latterly he seems inclined to live +here. But he don't never see no company, an' keeps hisself shut up +close.” + +At length, after waiting for more than half an hour, the noise of +carriage wheels was heard, and a brougham appeared driven by the porter. +He turned the brougham inside the gate, and then getting down, he +unlocked the small gate and advanced to the carriage. The fellow seemed +now to try to be more respectful, for he had a hat on his head which he +took off, and made a clumsy attempt at a bow. + +“Beg pardon, miss,” said he, “for keepin' you waitin'; but I had to put +the hosses in. Mr. Wiggins says as how you're to come up in the +brougham, an' your trunks an' things 'll be took up afterward. + +“But I want to drive up in this coach. I can't remove the luggage,” said +Edith. + +“I don't know about that, miss,” said the porter. “I've got to do as I'm +told.” + +At this Edith was silent; but her flashing eyes and a flush that swept +over her pale face showed her indignation. + +“So this is the way he dares to treat me,” said she, after some silence. +“Well,” she continued, “for the present I must yield and submit to this +insolence. But it only shows more clearly the character of the man. I +suppose we must go,” she continued, looking at Miss Plympton, and once +more opening the coach door herself. + +Miss Plympton had been more agitated than ever at this last message, and +as Edith opened the door she asked her, breathlessly, + +“What do you mean? What are you going to do, dear? + +“I am going to Dalton Hall,” said Edith, quietly. “We must go in the +brougham, and we must quit this.” + +Miss Plympton hesitated, and the maid, who was still more terrified, +clasped her hands in silent despair. But the porter, who had heard all, +now spoke. + +“Beg pardon, miss,” said he, “but that lady needn't trouble about it. +It's Mr. Wiggins's orders, miss, that on'y _you_ are to go to the +Hall.” + +“What insufferable insolence!” exclaimed Miss Plympton. “What shocking +and abominable arrogance!” + +“I do not regard it in the slightest,” said Edith, serenely. “It is only +assumption on his part. You are to come with me. If I pass through that +gate you are to come also. Come.” + +“Oh, my dearest, my own dearest Edith, do not!--wait!--come back and let +us talk over what we ought to do. Let us see a lawyer. Let us wait till +to-morrow, and see if a stranger like Wiggins can refuse admission to +the mistress of Dalton Hall.” + +“Beg pardon, mum,” said the porter, “but Mr. Wiggins ain't refusin' +admission to Miss Dalton--it's others that he don't want, that's all. +The lawyers can't do any thin' agin that.” + +“My child,” said Miss Plympton, “do you hear that? You shall not go. +This man knows well what he can do. He understands all the worst +injustice that can be done in the name of law. His whole life has been +lived in the practice of all those iniquities that the law winks at. You +see now at the outset what his purpose is. He will admit you, but not +your friends. He wishes to get you alone in his power. And why does he +not come himself? Why does he use such an agent as this?” + +Miss Plympton spoke rapidly, and in excited tones, but her excitement +did not affect Edith in the slightest degree. + +“I think you are altogether too imaginative,” said she. “His orders are +absurd. If I go through that gate, you shall go too. Come.” + +“Edith! Edith! I implore you, my darling,” cried Miss Plympton, “do not +go. Come back. It will not be long to wait. Come to the village till +to-morrow. Let us at least get the advice of a lawyer. The law can +surely give an entrance to the rightful owner.” + +[Illustration: “HE DREW FROM HIS BREAST A LARGE CLASP-KNIFE.”] + +“But he doesn't deny an entrance to me,” said Edith, “and if I go, you +shall come also. Come.” + +Miss Plympton hesitated. She saw that Edith was fully determined to go +to Dalton Hall, and she could not bear to part with her. But at the same +time she was so terrified at the thought of forcing a way in spite of +the opposition of so formidable a villain as Wiggins that she shrank +from it. Love at length triumphed over fear, and she followed Edith out +of the coach, together with the maid. + +Meanwhile the porter had stood in deep perplexity watching this scene, +but at length when Miss Plympton had reached the ground and prepared to +follow Edith he put himself in front of them. + +“Beg pardon, miss,” said he, “but its agin orders for them others to go. +It's on'y you that Mr. Wiggins 'll let in.” + +“Mr. Wiggins has nothing to say about the matter,” said Edith, coldly. + +“But I've got to obey orders,” said the man. + +“Will you please stand aside and let me pass?” said Edith. + +“I can't let them others in,” said the porter, doggedly. “You may go.” + +“John,” said Edith, quietly, “I'm sorry to trouble you, but you must +watch this man; and, driver, do you stand at the gate and keep it open.” + +At this John flung down his hat upon the road, tore off his coat and +tossed it after the hat, and, with a chuckle of something like +exultation, prepared to obey his mistress by putting himself in a +“scientific” attitude. He saw well enough that the porter was a +formidable foe, and his face was a diploma in itself that fully +testified to the skill and science of that foe; but John was plucky, and +in his prime, and very confident in his own powers. So John stood off +and prepared for the fray. On the other hand, the porter was by no means +at a loss. As John prepared he backed slowly toward the gate, glaring +like a wild beast at his assailant. But John was suddenly interrupted in +his movements by the driver. + +“See here, young man,” said the latter, who had sprung from the box at +Edith's order, “do you stand by the gate, an' I'll tickle that feller +with this whip, an' see how he likes it.” + +The driver was a stout, solid, muscular fellow, with broad shoulders and +bull-dog aspect. In his hand he flourished a heavy whip, and as he spoke +his eyes sought out some part of the porter's person at which he might +take aim. As he spoke the porter became aware of this second assailant, +and a dark and malignant frown lowered over his evil face. He slowly +drew from his breast a large clasp-knife which was as formidable as a +dagger, and opening this, he held it significantly before him. + +But now a new turn was given to the progress of affairs. Had the porter +said nothing, Miss Plympton might have overcome her fears far enough to +accompany Edith; but his menacing looks and words, and these +preparations for a struggle, were too much. + +“Edith, my child, my dearest, do not! do not! I can not go; I will not. +See these men; they will kill one another. John, come away. Driver, go +back to the box. Come away at once. Do you hear, John?” + +John did hear, and after some hesitation concluded to obey. He stepped +back from the gate, and stood awaiting the progress of events. The +driver also stood, waiting further orders. + +“Edith dearest,” said Miss Plympton, “nothing would induce me to go +through those gates. You must not go.” + +“I'm sure,” said Edith, “I shall be very sorry if you will not come; +but, for my own part, I am quite resolved to go. Don't be afraid. Come.” + +Miss Plympton shuddered and shook her head. + +“Well,” said Edith, “perhaps it will be as well for you to wait, since +you are so agitated; and if you really will not come, you can drive back +to the village. At any rate, I can see you to-morrow, and I will drive +down for you the first thing.” + +Miss Plympton looked mournfully at Edith. + +“And you, Richards,” said Edith, looking at her maid, “I suppose it is +no use for me to ask you. I see how it is. Well, never mind. I dare say +she needs you more than I do; and to-morrow will make all right. I see +it only distresses you for me to press you so I will say no more. +Good-by for the present.” + +Edith held out her hand. Miss Plympton took it, let it go, and folding +Edith in her arms, she burst into tears. + +“I'm afraid--I'm afraid,” said she. + +“What of?” said Edith. + +“About you,” moaned Miss Plympton. + +“Nonsense,” said Edith. “I shall call on you to-morrow as soon as you +are up.” + +Miss Plympton sighed. + +Edith held out her hand to her maid, Richards, and kindly bade her +good-by. The girl wept bitterly, and could not speak. It was an unusual +thing for Edith to do, and was rather too solemn a proceeding in view of +a short separation for one night, and this struck Edith herself. But who +knows what one night may bring forth? + +Edith now left them, and, passing through the gate, she stood and waved +her hand at them. The porter followed and shut the gate. Miss Plympton, +the maid, the driver, and John all stood looking after Edith with uneasy +faces. Seeing that, she forced a smile, and finding that they would not +go till she had gone, she waved a last adieu and entered the brougham. +As she did so she heard the bolt turn in the lock as the porter fastened +the gate, and an ominous dread arose within her. Was this a +presentiment? Did she have a dim foreshadowing of the future? Did she +conjecture how long it would be before she passed through that gate +again, and how and wherefore? It matters not. Other thoughts soon came, +and the porter jumping into the seat, drove rapidly off. + +Edith found herself carried along through lordly avenues, with giant +trees, the growth of centuries; rising grandly on either side and +overarching above, and between which long vistas opened, where the eye +could take in wide glades and sloping meadows. Sometimes she caught +sight of eminences rising in the distance covered with groves, and along +the slopes herds of deer sometimes came bounding. Finally there came to +view a broad lawn, with a pond in the centre, beyond which arose a +stately edifice which Edith recognized as the home of her childhood. + +It needed only one glance, however, to show Edith that a great change +had taken place since those well-remembered days of childhood. Every +where the old order and neatness had disappeared, and now in all +directions there were the signs of carelessness and neglect. The once +smooth lawn was now overgrown with tall grass; the margin of the pond +was filled with rushes, and its surface with slime; some of the windows +of the Hall were out, and some of the chimney-pots were broken; while +over the road grass had been allowed to grow in many places. Edith +recognized all this, and an involuntary sigh escaped her. The carriage +at length stopped, and she got out and ascended the steps to the door of +the house. + +The door was open, and an ungainly-looking negro servant was standing in +the hall. + +“Who has charge of this house?” asked Edith. “Is there a housekeeper?” + +The servant grinned. + +“Housekeepa, miss? Yes, miss, dar's Missa Dunbar.” + +“Call the housekeeper, then,” said Edith, “and tell her that I am +waiting for her in the drawing-room.” + +The servant went off, and Edith then entered the drawing-room. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +THE STRANGE INMATES OF DALTON HALL. + +In that well-remembered drawing-room there was much that renewed the +long past grief of childhood, and nothing whatever to soothe the sorrow +of the present. Looking around, Edith found many things the same as she +once remembered them; but still there were great changes--changes, too, +which were of the same nature as those which she had noticed outside. +Every thing showed traces of carelessness and long neglect. The seats of +many of the handsome, richly carved chairs were ruined. Costly vases +had disappeared. Dust covered every thing. Books and ornaments which lay +around were soiled and spoiled. In that apparently deserted house there +seemed to have been no one for years who cared to preserve the original +grace and elegance of its decorations. But Edith did not have a very +long time to give to her survey of this room, for in a few minutes she +heard the rustle of a dress, and, turning, she saw a woman approaching +who was evidently the housekeeper. + +Edith was prepared to see some woman who might be in keeping with these +desolate surroundings and with the ruffian porter at the gate--some +coarse, insolent female; and she had also prepared herself to encounter +any rudeness with fortitude. But the first sight of Mrs. Dunbar was +enough to show her that her anticipations were completely unfounded. + +She was a woman might have been about fifty, and even older. The outline +of her features showed marks of former beauty and the general air of her +face was altogether above the rank of a household domestic. The +expression was one of calm, strong self-control, of dignity, and of +resolution; at the same time there was in her dark, earnest eyes a +certain vigilant outlook, as of one who is on guard at all times; and +her gaze as she fixed it upon Edith was one of searching, eager, yet +most cautious and wary examination. On the whole, this woman excited +some surprise in Edith; and while she was gratified at finding in her +one who was not out of the reach of respect, she yet was perplexed at +the calm and searching scrutiny of which she was the object. But she did +not now take any time to think about this. A vague idea occurred to her +that Mrs. Dunbar, like many other housekeepers, was one of that numerous +class who “have seen better days;” so, after the first look, she felt +sufficiently satisfied, and advancing a step or two to meet her, she +frankly held out her hand. + +The housekeeper took it, and said, simply, “Welcome to Dalton Hall.” + +“Thank you,” said Edith. “If I had met you before, I might have been +spared some humiliation. But I need not talk of that. I am very tired +and very faint. I have traveled all day and have met with gross insult +at my own gate. I want food and rest. Will you have the kindness, then, +to take me to my own room at once, and then, get me a cup of tea?” + +Mrs. Dunbar had not removed her earnest eyes from Edith; and even after +she had ceased speaking she still looked at her for a few moments in the +same way without answering. + +“We did not know that you were coming so soon,” said she at length; “and +I can not tell you how I regret what has happened. It was too hard for +you. But we were taken by surprise. I entreat you not to suppose that +any thing but kindness was intended.” + +Edith looked now at Mrs. Dunbar with an earnest scrutiny that was fully +equal to the searching gaze of the former. Mrs. Dunbar's tone was +cordial and lady-like, but Edith felt repugnance at her use of the word +“we.” By that little word she at once identified herself with Wiggins, +and made herself in part responsible for the scene at the gate. + +“Kindness,” said she, “is a strange word to use in connection with that +scene, when I found myself forced to part with the only mother that I +have known since my own mamma died.” + +Mrs. Dunbar looked at her in silence, and there came over her face a +strange, patient expression that at any other time would have excited +Edith's sympathy and pity. Some reply seemed to rise to her lips, but +if it was so, it was instantly checked; and after a moment's hesitation +she said, in a low voice. + +“It is cheerless in this room. If you will come with me I will take you +where you can be more comfortable.” + +Saying this, she led the way out, and Edith followed, feeling a little +perplexed at Mrs. Dunbar's manner, and trying to understand how it was +that she was so identified with Wiggins. She thought she could see an +evident kindliness toward herself, but how that could coexist with the +treatment which she had received at the gates was rather a puzzle. + +Mrs. Dunbar led the way up to the second story, and along a corridor +toward the right wing. Here she came to a room in the front of the house +which looked out upon the park, and commanded an extensive view. There +was a well-furnished bedroom off this room, to which Mrs. Dunbar at once +led her. + +“If we had only received notice that you were coming,” said she, “you +would have met with a better reception.” + +Edith said nothing, for once more the word “we” jarred unpleasantly upon +her. + +“Shall you have any objection to occupy this room for to-night?” asked +Mrs. Dunbar. + +“Thank you,” said Edith, “none whatever; but I should like very much to +have my luggage. It was taken back to Dalton.” + +“Taken back?” + +“Yes. Miss Plympton was not admitted, and my luggage was on the coach.” + +Mrs. Dunbar made no reply for some moments. + +“I should feel much obliged if you would send one of the servants to +fetch it,” said Edith. + +“I don't see why not,” said Mrs. Dunbar, in a hesitating voice. + +“And have you any writing materials?” asked Edith. “I should like to +send a few lines to Miss Plympton.” + +Mrs. Dunbar looked at her with one of those strange, searching glances +peculiar to her, and after some hesitation said, “I will look.” + +“Thank you,” said Edith, and turned away. Mrs. Dunbar then left her, and +did not return for some time. At length she made her appearance, +followed by the black servant, who carried a tray. A table was laid in +the outer room, and a bountiful repast spread there. Edith did not eat +much, however. She sat sipping a cup of tea, and thinking profoundly, +while Mrs. Dunbar took a seat a little on one side, so as to be +unobserved, from which position she watched Edith most closely. It was +as though she was studying the character of this young girl so as to see +what its promise might be. And if Mrs. Dunbar had any knowledge of the +world, one thing must have been plainly manifest to her in that +examination, and that was that this young girl was not to be managed or +controlled after the fashion of most of her kind, but would require very +difficult and very peculiar treatment if she were to be bent to the will +of others. Mrs. Dunbar seemed to recognize this, and the discovery +seemed to create distress, for a heavy sigh escaped her. + +The sigh roused Edith. She at once rose from her seat and turned round. + +“And now, Mrs. Dunbar,” said she, “if you will let me have the writing +materials I will send a few lines to poor Miss Plympton.” + +Mrs. Dunbar at once arose, and going out of the room, returned in a few +minutes with a desk, which she laid upon another table. Edith at once +seated herself to write, and while the black servant was removing the +things she hurriedly wrote the following: + +“DALTON HALL. + +“My darling Auntie,--I write at once because I know you will be devoured +with anxiety, and will not sleep to-night unless you hear from me. You +will be delighted to learn, then, that I am safe and unharmed. The man +Wiggins has not yet made his appearance, but I hope to see him this +evening. The Hall looks familiar, but desolate, except in the room where +I now am writing, where I find sufficient comfort to satisfy me. I am +too much fatigued to write any more, nor is it necessary, as I intend to +call on you as early as possible to-morrow morning. Until then good-by, +and don't be foolishly anxious about your own. + +“EDITH.” + +This note Edith folded and directed to “Miss Plympton, Dalton.” After +which she handed it to Mrs. Dunbar, who took it in silence and left the +room. + +For some time Edith sat involved in thought. She had written cheerfully +enough to Miss Plympton, but that was from a kindly desire to reassure +her. In reality, she was overwhelmed with loneliness and melancholy. +The aspect of the grounds below and of the drawing-room had struck a +chill to her heart. This great drear house oppressed her, and the +melancholy with which she had left Plympton Terrace now became +intensified. The gloom that had overwhelmed her father seemed to rest +upon her father's house, and descended thence upon her own spirit, +strong and brave though it was. + +In the midst of her melancholy thoughts she was startled at the sound of +a low sigh immediately behind her. She turned hastily, and saw a man +standing there, who had entered the room so silently that, in her +abstraction, she had not heard him. He was now standing about half-way +between her and the door, and his eyes were fixed upon her with +something of that same earnest scrutiny which she had already observed +in the gaze of Mrs. Dunbar. One glance at this man was sufficient to +show her that it was no servant, and that it could be no other than +Wiggins himself. He was not a man, however, who could be dismissed with +a glance. There was something in him which compelled a further survey, +and Edith found herself filled with a certain indefinable wonder as she +looked at him. His eyes were fixed on her; her eyes were fixed on him; +and they both looked upon each other in silence. + +He was a man who might once have been tall, but now was stooping so that +his original height was concealed. He was plainly dressed, and his coat +of some thin black stuff hung loosely about him. He wore slippers, which +served to account for his noiseless entrance. Yet it was not things +like these that Edith noticed at that time, but rather the face that now +appeared before her. + +It was a face which is only met with once in a lifetime?--a face which +had such an expression that the beholder could only feel baffled. It was +the face of one who might be the oldest of men, so snow-white was the +hair, so deep were the lines that were graven upon it. His cheek-bones +were prominent, his mouth was concealed by a huge gray mustache, and his +cheeks were sunken, while his forehead projected, and was fringed with +heavy eyebrows, from behind which his dark eyes glowed with a sort of +gloomy lustre from cavernous depths. Over his whole face there was one +pervading expression that was more than despondency, and near akin to +despair. It was the expression of a man whose life had been a series of +disheartening failures, or of one who had sinned deeply, or of one who +had suffered unusual and protracted anguish of soul, or of one who has +been long a prey to that form of madness which takes the form of +melancholy. So this might mean a ruined life, or it might mean madness, +or it might be the stamp of sorrow, or it might be the handwriting of +remorse. Whatever it was could certainly not be gathered from one +survey, or from many, nor, indeed, could it be known for certain at all +without this man's confession. + +[Illustration: “AND THIS WAS WIGGINS!”] + +For in addition to this mysterious expression there was another, which +was combined with it so closely that it seemed to throw conjecture still +further off the track and bewilder the gazer. This was a certain air of +patient and incessant vigilance, a look-out upon the world as from +behind an outpost of danger, the hunted look of the criminal who fears +detection, or the never-ending watchfulness of the uneasy conscience. + +All this Edith could not help seeing, and she gathered this general +result from her survey of that face, though at that time she could not +put her conclusion in words. It seemed to her to be remorse which she +saw there, and the manifestations of a stricken conscience. It was the +criminal who feared detection, the wrong-doer on the constant look-out +for discovery--a criminal most venerable, a wrong-doer who must have +suffered; but if a criminal, one of dark and bitter memories, and one +whose thoughts, reaching over the years, must have been as gloomy as +death. + +And this was Wiggins! + +Not the Mephistopheles which she had imagined; not the evil mocking +fiend; but one rather who originally had not been without good +instincts, and who might have become a virtuous man had fate not +prevented. It was not the leering, sneering tempter that she saw, but +rather some representation of that archangel ruined, for it was as +though “his brow deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care sat on +his faded cheek.” + +At first the woman's heart of Edith made itself felt, and she pitied +him; but quickly the daughter's heart spoke, and it denounced him. If +this man felt remorse, it could only be for one great crime, and what +crime was so great as that of the betrayal of Frederick Dalton? Was it +this that had crushed the traitor? Thoughts like these flashed through +her mind, and her glance, which at first had softened from +commiseration, now grew stern and cold and hard; and the fixed, eager +look which came to her from those gloomy and mournful eyes was returned +by one which was hard and pitiless and repellent. Back to her heart came +that feeling which for a moment had faltered: the old hate, nourished +through her lifetime, and magnified during the last few days to +all-absorbing proportions: the strongest feeling of her nature, the hate +of the enemy of herself and the destroyer of her father. + +Wiggins, on his part, with his quick, vigilant eyes, did not fail to +mark at once the change that had come over Edith. He saw the first +glance of pity, and then the transition to coldness deepening into hate. +Until then there had seemed a spell upon him which fixed his gaze on +Edith, but now the spell was suddenly broken. He removed his gaze, and +then, taking a chair, he sat upon it, and for a few moments remained +with his eyes fixed on the floor. + +At last he raised his head, and, looking fixedly at Edith, began to +speak, and spoke in a strange, low, measured tone, with frequent +hesitations; in a way also that gave the idea of one who, for some cause +or other, was putting a strong constraint upon himself, and only +speaking by an effort. + +“I regret, very deeply,” said he, “that you were treated with rudeness. +Had I known that you would come so soon, I should have notified the--the +porter. But he--he meant no harm. He is very faithful--to orders.” + +“I am sorry to say,” said Edith, “that it was not the rudeness of the +porter that was offensive, but rather the rudeness of yourself.” + +Wiggins started. + +“Of myself?” he repeated. + +“Certainly,” said Edith; “in refusing to admit one who is my dearest +friend on earth.” + +Wiggins drew a long breath, and looked troubled. + +“It was distressing to me,” said he at length; “but it could not be.” + +At this, Edith felt inexpressibly galled, but for the time restrained +herself. + +“Perhaps you would have been pleased,” said she, “if I had gone away +with her.” + +“Oh no,” said Wiggins, dreamily--“oh no.” + +“I thought for a time of doing so,” said Edith; “and in that case I +should have come to-morrow, or as soon as possible, with the officers of +the law, to reply to your orders.” + +At this Wiggins looked at her with a strange and solemn glance, which +puzzled Edith. + +“You would have regretted it,” said he, “eventually.” + +“Few would have done as I did,” said Edith, “in coming here alone.” + +“You did right,” said Wiggins. + +“At the same time,” said Edith, firmly, “if I have forborne once, I +assure you I shall not do so again. You are in a wrong course +altogether. I shall put an end to this at once. And I tell you now that +this place must be made ready for Miss Plympton tomorrow. I will have +that brutal porter dismissed at once. As to yourself and the +housekeeper, I need say nothing just now.” + +If it had been possible for that gray face to have turned grayer or +paler, it would have done so as Edith uttered these words. Wiggins +fixed his solemn eyes on her, and their glance had something in it which +was almost awful. After a moment he slowly passed his thin hand over his +brow, frowned, and looked away. Then he murmured, in a low voice, as if +to himself, + +“The girl's mad!” + +Edith heard these words, and for a moment thought Wiggins himself must +be mad; but his calmness and cold constraint looked too much like sober +sense. She herself had her own dark and gloomy feelings, and these +glowed in her heart with a fervid fire--too fervid, indeed, to admit of +utterance. She too had to put upon herself a constraint to keep back +the words, glowing with hot wrath and fervid indignation, which she +could have flung upon her father's betrayer. But because words were +weak, and because such deeds as his had to be repaid by act and in kind, +she forbore. + +“It is necessary,” said Wiggins at length, “to live here in seclusion +for a time. You will gradually become accustomed to it, and it will be +all for the best. It may not be for so very long, after all--perhaps not +more than one year. Perhaps you may eventually be admitted to--to our +purposes.” + +“This,” said Edith, “is childish. What you mean I do not know, nor do I +care to. You seem to hint at seclusion. I do not feel inclined for +society, but a seclusion of your making is not to my taste. You must +yourself go elsewhere to seek this seclusion. This is mine, and here I +intend to bring the friends whom I wish to have with me. I can only +regard your present course as the act of a thoroughly infatuated man. +You have had things all your own way thus far, and seem to have come to +regard this place as yours, and never to have counted upon any thing but +acquiescence on my part in your plans.” + +Wiggins fastened his solemn eyes upon her, and murmured, + +“True.” + +“It is useless, therefore,” said Edith, loftily, “for you to make any +opposition. It will only be foolish, and you will ultimately be ruined +by it.” + +Wiggins rose to his feet. + +“It is only a waste of time,” said he. “I confess you are different from +what I anticipated. You do not know. You can not understand. You are +too rash and self-confident. I can not tell you what my plans are; I +can only tell you my wishes.” + +Edith rose to her feet, and stood opposite, with her large eyes flaming +from her white face. + +“This insolence,” said she, “has lasted too long. It is you who must +obey me--not I you. You speak as though there were no such thing as +law.” + +“I said nothing about obedience,” said Wiggins, in a mournful voice, +which, in spite of herself, affected Edith very strangely. “I spoke of +plans which could not be communicated to you yet, and of my wishes.” + +“But I,” said Edith, mildly, “wish you to understand that I have my own +wishes. You make use of a tone which I can not tolerate for a moment. I +have only one thing more to say, and that is to repeat my former +direction. I _must_ have Miss Plympton here tomorrow, and +preparations for her _must_ be made. Once for all, you must +understand that between you and me there is absolutely nothing in +common; and I tell you now that it is my intention to dispense with your +services at the earliest possible date. I will not detain you any +longer.” + +Saying this, she waved her hand toward the door, and then resumed her +seat. + +As for Wiggins, he looked at her with his usual solemn gaze during these +remarks. His bowed form seemed to be bent more as he listened to her +words. When she ceased and sat down he stood listening still, as though +he heard some echo to her words. Edith did not look up, but turned her +eyes in another direction, and so did not see the face that was still +turned toward her. But if she had looked there she would have seen a +face which bore a deeper impress than ever of utter woe. + +In a few moments he turned and left the room, as silently as he came. + +Before retiring that night Edith called Mrs. Dunbar, and gave her some +directions about preparing another bedroom and the drawing-room. To her +orders, which were somewhat positive, Mrs. Dunbar listened in silence, +and merely bowed in reply. + +After which Edith retired, weary and worn out, and troubled in many +ways. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +WALLED IN. + +Very early on the following day Edith arose, and found Mrs. Dunbar +already moving about. She remarked that she had heard Edith dressing +herself, and had prepared a breakfast for her. This little mark of +attention was very grateful to Edith, who thanked Mrs. Dunbar quite +earnestly, and found the repast a refreshing one. After this, as it was +yet too early to think of calling on Miss Plympton, she wandered about +the house. The old nooks and corners dear to memory were visited once +more. Familiar scenes came back before her. Here was the nursery, there +her mother's room, in another place the library. There, too, was the +great hall up stairs, with pictures on each side of ancestors who went +back to the days of the Plantagenets. There were effigies in armor of +knights who had fought in the Crusades and in the Wars of the Roses; of +cavaliers who had fought for King Charles; of gallant gentlemen who had +followed their country's flag under the burning sun of India, over the +sierras of Spain, and in the wilderness of America. And of all these she +was the last, and all that ancestral glory was bound up in her, a weak +and fragile girl. Deeply she regretted at that moment that she was not a +man, so that she might confer new lustre upon so exalted a lineage. + +[Illustration: “SHE SAW THE BLACK SERVANT, HUGO.”] + +As she wandered through the rooms and galleries all her childhood came +back before her. She recalled her mother, her fond love, and her early +death. That mother's picture hung in the great hall, and she gazed at it +long and pensively, recalling that noble face, which in her remembrance +was always softened by the sweet expression of tenderest love. But it +was here that something met her eyes which in a moment chased away every +regretful thought and softer feeling, and brought back in fresh +vehemence the strong glow of her grief and indignation. Turning away +from her mother's portrait by a natural impulse to look for that of her +father, she was at first unable to find it. At length, at the end of the +line of Dalton portraits, she noticed what at first she had supposed to +be part of the wall out of repair. Another glance, however, showed that +it was the back of a picture. In a moment she understood it. It was her +father's portrait, and the face had been turned to the wall. + +Stung by a sense of intolerable insult, her face flushed crimson, and +she remained for a few moments rooted to the spot glaring at the +picture. Who had dared to do this--to heap insult upon that innocent and +suffering head, to wrong so foully the memory of the dead? Her first +impulse was to tear it down with her own hands, and replace it in its +proper position; her next to seek out Wiggins at once and denounce him +to his face for all his perfidy, of which this was the fitting climax. +But a more sober thought followed--the thought of her own weakness. +What could her words avail against a man like that? Better far would it +be for her to wait until she could expel the usurper, and take her own +place as acknowledged mistress in Dalton Hall. This thought made her +calmer, and she reflected that she need not wait very long. This day +would decide it all, and this very night her father's portrait should be +placed in its right position. + +This incident destroyed all relish for further wandering about the +house, and though it was yet early, she determined to set out at once +for the village and find Miss Plympton. With this design she descended +to the lower hall, and saw there the same black servant whom she had +seen the day before. + +“What is your name?” she asked. + +“Hugo,” said the black, with his usual grin. + +“Well, Hugo,” said she, “I want the brougham. Go to the stables, have +the horses put in, and come back as soon as you can. And here is +something for your trouble.” + +Saying this, she proffered him a sovereign. + +But the black did not appear to see it. He simply said, “Yes, miss,” + and turned away. Edith was surprised; but thinking that it was merely +his stupidity, she went up stairs and waited patiently for a long time. +But, in spite of her waiting, there were no signs of any carriage; and +at length, growing impatient, she determined to go to the stables +herself. She knew the way there perfectly well, and soon reached the +place. To her surprise and vexation the doors were locked, and there +were no signs whatever of Hugo. + +“The stupid black must have misunderstood me,” thought she. + +She now returned to the house, and wandered all about in search of some +servants. But she saw none. She began to think that Hugo was the only +servant in the place; and if so, as he had disappeared, her chance of +getting the brougham was small indeed. As for Wiggins, she did not think +of asking him, and Mrs. Dunbar was too much under the influence of +Wiggins for her to apply there. She was therefore left to herself. + +Time passed thus, and Edith's impatience grew intolerable. At length, as +she could not obtain a carriage, she determined to set out on foot and +walk to Dalton. She began now to think that Wiggins had seen Hugo, found +out what she wanted, and had forbidden the servant to obey. This seemed +the only way in which she could account for it all. If this were so, it +showed that there was some unpleasant meaning in the language which +Wiggins had used to her on the previous evening about a secluded life, +and in that case any delay made her situation more unpleasant. She had +already lost too much time, and therefore could wait no longer. On the +instant, therefore, she set out, and walked down the great avenue toward +the gates. It was a longer distance than she had supposed: so long, +indeed, did it seem that once or twice she feared that she had taken the +wrong road; but at last her fears were driven away by the sight of the +porter's lodge. + +On reaching the gates she found them locked. For this she had not been +prepared; but a moment's reflection showed her that this need not excite +surprise. She looked up at them with a faint idea of climbing over. One +glance, however, showed that to be impossible; they were high, and +spiked at the top, and over them was a stone arch which left no room for +any one to climb over. She looked at the wall, but that also was beyond +her powers. Only one thing now remained, and that was to apply to the +porter. After this fellow's rudeness on the previous day, she felt an +excessive repugnance toward making any application to him now; but her +necessity was urgent, and time pressed. So she quieted her scruples, and +going to the door of the porter's house, knocked impatiently. + +The porter came at once to the door, and bowed as respectfully as +possible. His demeanor, in fact, was totally different from what it had +been on the previous day, and evinced every desire to show respect, +though perhaps he might manifest it rather awkwardly. Edith noticed +this, and was encouraged by it. + +“I want you to let me out,” said Edith. “I'm going to Dalton.” + +The man looked at her, and then at the ground, and then fumbled his +fingers together; after which he plunged his hands in his pockets. + +“Do you hear what I say?” said Edith, sharply. “I want you to unlock the +gate.” + +“Well, miss, as to that--I humbly beg your pardon, miss, but I've got my +orders not to.” + +“Nonsense,” said Edith. “No one here gives orders but me. I am mistress +here.” + +“Beg pardon, miss, but I don't know any master but Master Wiggins.” + +“Wiggins!” said Edith. + +“Yes, miss, an' hopin' it's no offense. I have to obey orders.” + +“But he couldn't have given you orders about me,” said Edith, haughtily. + +“He said all persons, miss, comin' or goin', all the same. No offense +bein' intended, miss, an' beggin' your pardon.” + +“But this is absurd,” said Edith. “He knows that I am going to Dalton. +You have misunderstood him.” + +“I'm sorry, miss. I'd do any thin' to oblige, miss; but I've got to do +as I'm bid.” + +“Who employs you?” + +“Master, miss--Master Wiggins.” + +“Do you want to keep this situation?” + +“Keep this situation?” + +“Yes. You don't want to be turned out, do you?” + +“Oh, no miss.” + +“Well, obey me now, and you shall remain. I am the mistress of Dalton +Hall, and the owner of these estates. Wiggins is the agent, and seems +disinclined to do what I wish. He will have to leave. If you don't want +to leave also, obey me now.” + +All this seemed to puzzle the porter, but certainly made no impression +upon his resolve. He looked at Edith, then at the ground, then at the +trees, and finally, as Edith concluded, he said: + +“Beg pardon, miss, but orders is orders, an' I've got to obey mine.” + +Edith now began to feel discouraged. Yet there was one resource left, +and this she now tried. Drawing forth her purse, she took out some +pieces of gold. + +“Come,” said she, “you do very well to obey orders in ordinary cases; +but in my case you are violating the law, and exposing yourself to +punishment. Now I will pay you well if you do me this little service, +and will give you this now, and much more afterward. Here, take this, +and let me out quick.” + +The porter kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and did not even look at +the gold. “See!” said Edith, excitedly and hurriedly--“see!” + +The porter would not look. But at last he spoke, and then came the old +monotonous sentence, + +“Beggin' your pardon, miss, an' hopin' there's no offense, I can't do +it. I've got to obey orders, miss.” + +At this Edith gave up the effort, and turning away, walked slowly and +sadly from the gates. + +This was certainly more than she had anticipated. By this she saw +plainly that Wiggins was determined to play a bold game. The possibility +of such restraint as this had never entered into her mind. Now she +recalled Miss Plympton's fears, and regretted when too late that she had +trusted herself within these gates. And now what the porter had told her +showed her in one instant the full depth of his design. He evidently +intended to keep her away from all communication with the outside world. +And she--what could she do? How could she let Miss Plympton know? How +could she get out? No doubt Wiggins would contrive to keep all avenues +of escape closed to her as this one was. Even the walls would be +watched, so that she should not clamber over. + +Among the most disheartening of her discoveries was the incorruptible +fidelity of the servants of Wiggins. Twice already had she tried to +bribe them, but on each occasion she had failed utterly. The black +servant and the porter were each alike beyond the reach of her gold. + +Her mind was now agitated and distressed. In her excitement she could +not yet return to the Hall, but still hoped that she might escape, +though the hope was growing faint indeed. She felt humiliated by the +defeat of her attempts upon the honesty of the servants. She was +troubled by the thought of her isolation, and did not know what might be +best to do. + +One thing now seemed evident, and this was that she had a better chance +of escaping at this time than she would have afterward. If she was to +be watched, the outlook could not yet be as perfect or as well organized +as it would afterward be. And among the ways of escape she could think +of nothing else than the wall. That wall, she thought, must certainly +afford some places which she might scale. She might find some gate in a +remote place which could afford egress. To this she now determined to +devote herself. + +With this purpose on her mind, she sought to find her way through the +trees to the wall. This she was able to do without much difficulty, for +though the trees grew thick, there was no underbrush, but she was able +to walk along without any very great trouble. Penetrating in this way +through the trees, she at length came to the wall. But, to her great +disappointment, she found its height here quite as great as it had been +near the gate, and though in one or two places trees grew up which threw +their branches out over it, yet those trees were altogether inaccessible +to her. + +Still she would not give up too quickly, but followed the wall for a +long distance. The further she went, however, the more hopeless did her +search seem to grow. The ground was unequal, sometimes rising into +hills, and at other times sinking into valleys; but in all places, +whether hill or valley, the wall arose high, formidable, not to be +scaled by one like her. As she looked at it the thought came to her that +it had been arranged for that very purpose, so that it should not be +easily climbed, and so it was not surprising that a barrier which might +baffle the active poacher or trespasser should prove insuperable to a +slender girl like her. + +She wandered on, however, in spite of discouragement, in the hope of +finding a gate. But this search was as vain as the other. After +walking for hours, till her feeble limbs could scarcely support her any +longer, she sank down exhausted, and burst into tears. + +For a long time she wept, overwhelmed by accumulated sorrow and +despondency and disappointment. At length she roused herself, and drying +her eyes, looked up and began to think of returning to the Hall. + +To her amazement she saw the black servant, Hugo, standing not far away. +As she raised her eyes he took off his cap, and grinned as usual. The +sight of him gave Edith a great shock, and excited new suspicions and +fears within her. + +Had she been followed? + +She must have been. She had been watched and tracked. All her desperate +efforts had been noted down to be reported to Wiggins--all her long and +fruitless search, her baffled endeavors, her frustrated hopes! + +It was too much. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +A PARLEY WITH THE JAILERS. + +Coming as it did close upon her baffled efforts to escape, this +discovery of Hugo proclaimed to Edith at once most unmistakably the fact +that she was a prisoner. She was walled in. She was under guard and +under surveillance. She could not escape without the consent of Wiggins, +nor could she move about without being tracked by the spy of Wiggins. It +was evident also that both the porter and the black servant Hugo were +devoted to their master, and were beyond the reach both of persuasion +and of bribery. + +The discovery for a moment almost overwhelmed her once more; but the +presence of another forced her to put a restraint upon her feelings. She +tried to look unconcerned, and turning away her eyes, she sat in the +same position for some time longer. But beneath the calm which her +pride forced her to assume her heart throbbed painfully, and her +thoughts dwelt with something almost like despair upon her present +situation. + +But Edith had a strong and resolute soul in spite of her slender and +fragile frame; she had also an elastic disposition, which rose up +swiftly from any prostration, and refused to be cast down utterly. So +now this strength of her nature asserted itself; and triumphing over her +momentary weakness, she resolved to go at once and see Wiggins himself. +With these subordinates she had nothing to do. Her business was with +Wiggins, and with Wiggins alone. + +Yet the thought of an interview had something in it which was strangely +repugnant to Edith. The aspect of her two jailers seemed to her to be +repellent in the extreme. That white old man, with the solemn mystery +of his eyes, that weird old woman, with her keen, vigilant +outlook--these were the ones who now held her in restraint, and with +these she had to come in conflict. In both of them there seemed +something uncanny, and Edith could not help feeling that in the lives of +both of these there was some mystery that passed her comprehension. + +Still, uncanny or not, whatever might be the mystery of her jailers, +they remained her jailers and nothing less. It was against this thought +that the proud soul of Edith chafed and fretted. It was a thought which +was intolerable. It roused her to the intensest indignation. She was the +lady of Dalton Hall; these who thus dared to restrain her were her +subordinates. This Wiggins was not only her inferior, but he had been +the enemy of her life. Could she submit to fresh indignities or wrongs +at the hands of one who had already done so much evil to her and hers? +She could not. + +That white old man with his mystery, his awful eyes, his venerable face, +his unfathomable expression, and the weird old woman, his associate, +with her indescribable look and her air of watchfulness, were both +partners in this crime of unlawful imprisonment. They dared to put +restrictions upon the movements of their mistress, the lady of Dalton +Hall. Such an attempt could only be the sign of a desperate mind, and +the villainy of their plan was of itself enough to sink them deep in +Edith's thoughts down to an abyss of contempt and indignation. This +indignation roused her, and her eagerness to see Miss Plympton impelled +her to action. Animated by such feelings and motives, she delayed no +longer, but at once returned to the Hall to see Wiggins himself. + +On her way back she was conscious of the fact that Hugo was following; +but she took no notice of it, as it was but the sequel to the preceding +events of the day. She entered the Hall, and finding Mrs. Dunbar, told +her to tell Wiggins that she wished to see him. After this she went down +to the dreary drawing-room, where she awaited the coming of her jailer. + +The room was unchanged from what it had been on the preceding day. By +this time also Edith had noticed that there were no servants about +except Hugo. The drear desolation of the vast Hall seemed drearier from +the few inmates who dwelt there, and the solitude of the place made +it still more intolerable. + +After some time Wiggins made his appearance. He came in slowly, with +his eyes fixed upon Edith, and the same expression upon his face which +she had noticed before. A most singular man he was, whoever or whatever +he might be. That hoary head and that venerable face might have awed her +under other circumstances, and the unfathomable mystery of its +expression might have awakened intense interest and sympathy; but as it +was, Edith had no place for any other feelings than suspicion, +indignation, and scorn. + +“What do you mean by this treatment?” said Edith, abruptly. “It seems as +though you are trying to imprison me. I have told you that I wish to +call on Miss Plympton. I can not get a carriage, and I am not allowed +to leave this place on foot. You are responsible for this, and I tell +you now that I must go, and at once.” + +At this peremptory address Wiggins stood looking at her with his usual +expression, and for some moments made no reply. + +“I did not know,” said he at length, in a slow and hesitating voice, +“that you wished to leave so soon.” + +“But I told you so. You drove away Miss Plympton yesterday from my +gates. I promised to call on her this morning. She is anxiously +expecting me. I must go to her.” Wiggins again waited for a few moments +before replying, and at length said, in an abstracted tone: + +“No, no; it can not be--it can not be!” + +“Can not be!” repeated Edith. “It seems to me that you are trying to +carry out a most extraordinary course of action toward me. This looks +like restraint or imprisonment.” + +Wiggins looked at her with an expression of earnest entreaty on his +face, with which there was also mingled an air of indescribable sadness. + +“It is necessary,” said he, in a mournful voice. “Can you not bring +yourself to bear with it? You do not know what is at stake. Some day +all will be explained.” + +“This is silly,” exclaimed Edith. “No explanation is possible. I insist +on leaving this place at once. If you refuse to let me go, it will be +worse for you than for me.” + +“You do not know what you ask,” said Wiggins. + +“I ask you,” said Edith, sternly and proudly, “to open those gates to +your mistress.” + +Wiggins shook his head. + +“I ask you to open those gates,” continued Edith. “If you let me go now, +I promise not to prosecute you--at least for this. I will forget to-day +and yesterday.” + +Saying this, she looked at him inquiringly. But Wiggins shook his head +as before. “It can not be,” said he. + +“You decide, then, to refuse my demand?” said Edith, impatiently. + +“I must,” said Wiggins, with a heavy sigh. “It is necessary. All is at +stake. You do not know what you are doing.” + +“It is evident to me,” said Edith, mastering herself by a strong effort, +“that you are playing a desperate game, but at the same time you are +trusting much to chance. Why did you wish me to come here? It was by the +merest chance that I decided to come. It was also by another chance +that I entered those gates which you now shut against my departure. Few +would have done it.” + +“Your presence seemed necessary to my plans,” said Wiggins, slowly. +“What those plans are I can not yet confide to you. You are concerned in +them as much as I am. Opposition will be of no avail, and will only +injure you. But I hope you will not try to oppose me. I entreat you to +bear with me. I entreat you to try to put a little confidence in me. I +was your father's friend; and I now implore you, that daughter whom he +loved so dearly, for your father's sake--yes, and for the sake of your +sainted mother--not to--” + +“This is mere hypocrisy,” interrupted Edith. “My father was one with +whom one like you can have nothing in common. You add to your crimes by +this treatment of his daughter. What you have already been guilty of +toward him you alone know. If you hope for mercy hereafter, do not add +to your guilt.” + +“Guilt!” cried Wiggins, in an awful voice. He started back, and +regarded her with eyes of utter horror. “Guilt!” he repeated, in a voice +so low that it was scarcely above a whisper--“and she says that word!” + +Edith looked at him with unchanged severity. + +“You made a great mistake,” said she, coldly and sternly, “when you +drove Miss Plympton away. If you hope to keep me imprisoned here, you +will only destroy yourself. I have a friend who knows you, and who will +know before evening that I am here under restraint. She will never rest +until she effects my deliverance. Have you counted on that?” + +Wiggins listened attentively, as usual, to every word. The effort seemed +to give him pain, and the suggestion of her friend was undoubtedly most +unpleasant. + +“No, I have not,” said he. He spoke as though to himself. The candor of +this confession stimulated Edith to dwell to a greater extent upon this +subject. + +“She was not willing for me to come in,” said she. “She wished me not to +enter without a lawyer or the sheriff. If she finds that I am detained, +she will enter here in that way herself. She will deliver me in spite of +you. If she does not see me to-day, she will at once use every effort to +come to me. Your porters and your spies will be of no use against the +officers of the law.” + +At this Wiggins looked at the floor, and was evidently in a state of +perplexity. He stood in silence for some time, and Edith waited +impatiently for his answer, so as to learn what effect these last hints +had produced. At length Wiggins looked up. He spoke slowly and +mournfully. + +“I am very sorry,” said he. “I hope it will not come to that. I'm afraid +that I shall have to take you elsewhere.” + +These words fell upon Edith's ears ominously and threateningly. They +conveyed to her mind a menace dark and gloomy, and showed the full +determination of Wiggins to maintain at all hazards the control that he +had gained over her. Edith therefore was silent, and apprehensive of +evil. She was afraid that she had said too much. It might have been +better not to threaten, or to show her hand prematurely. It might be the +best plan to wait in silence and in patience for Miss Plympton. Wiggins +was desperate. He might take her away, as he darkly hinted, from this +place to some other where Miss Plympton could never find her. + +She stood for some time in silence, with her mind full of such thoughts +as these. Wiggins waited for a few moments, and then turned and slowly +left the room. Edith said nothing, and made no effort to recall him, for +she now felt that her situation was growing serious, and that it would +be better for her to think it all over seriously, and not speak to +Wiggins again until she had decided upon some definite plan of action. +She therefore allowed him to take his departure, and soon afterward she +went to her own room, where she remained for hours in deep thought. + +At length Mrs. Dunbar brought in dinner. After laying the table she +stood for a few moments in silence looking at Edith; but at length, +yielding to some sudden impulse she came forward, and as Edith looked up +in surprise, she exclaimed, with startling abruptness, + +“Oh, how unfortunate! and oh, what a wretched mistake you are under! If +you had not come home so suddenly, all might have been well. We hoped +that you would be content and patient. Mr. Wiggins has plans of immense +importance; they require great quiet and seclusion. Oh, if you could +only have some faith in us!” + +She stopped as abruptly as she had begun. This style of address from a +housekeeper seemed to Edith to be altogether too familiar, and she +resented it deeply. Besides, the identification of herself with Wiggins +put Mrs. Dunbar in an odious position in Edith's eyes. + +“Mr. Wiggins's plans are of no consequence to me whatever,” said she, +coldly. + +“They are; they are of immense importance,” cried Mrs. Dunbar. + +Edith looked at her for a few moments with a cold stare of wonder, for +this volunteered advice seemed something like insolence, coming thus +from a subordinate. But she contented herself with answering in a quiet +tone: + +“You are mistaken. Nothing is of importance to me but my liberty. It +will be very dangerous to deprive me of that. My friends will never +allow it. In Wiggins this attempt to put me under restraint is nothing +less than desperation. Think yourself how frantic he must be to hope to +be able to confine me here, when I have friends outside who will move +heaven and earth to come to me.” + +At this a look of uneasiness came over Mrs. Dunbar's face. It seemed to +Edith that this hint at friends without was the only thing that in any +way affected either of her jailers. + +“The punishment for such a crime as unlawful imprisonment,” continued +Edith, “is a severe one. If Wiggins has ever committed any crimes +before, this will only aggravate his guilt, and make his punishment the +worse.” + +At this Mrs. Dunbar stared at Edith with the same horror in her eyes +which Wiggins had lately shown. + +“Crime?” she repeated. “Guilt? Punishment? Oh, Heavens! Has it come to +this? This is terrible. Girl,” she continued, with a frown, “you don't +know the dreadful nature of those words. You are a marplot. You have +come home to ruin every thing. But I thought so,” she murmured to +herself. “I told him so. I said it would be ruin, but he would have his +way. And now--” The remainder of her remarks was inaudible. Suddenly +her manner changed. Her anger gave way once more to entreaty. + +“Oh!” she said, “can nothing persuade you that we are your friends? +Trust us--oh, trust us! You will soon learn how we love you. He only +thinks of you. You are the final aim of all his plans.” + +Edith gave a light laugh. That she was the final aim of Wiggins's plans +she did not doubt. She saw now that plan clearly, as she thought. It was +to gain control of her for purposes of his own in connection with the +estate. Under such circumstances Mrs. Dunbar's entreaties seemed silly, +and to make any answer was absurd. She turned away and sat down at the +table. As for Mrs. Dunbar, she left the room. + +Night came. Edith did not sleep; she could not. The day had been the +most eventful one of her life. The thought that she was a prisoner was +terrible. She could only sustain herself by the hope that Miss Plympton +would save her. But this hope was confronted by a dark fear which +greatly distressed her. It might take time for Miss Plympton to do any +thing toward releasing her. She knew that the law worked slowly: she did +not feel at all certain that it worked surely. Her father's fate rose +before her as a warning of the law's uncertainty and injustice. Could +she hope to be more fortunate than he had been? Wiggins had passed his +life in the study of the law, and knew how to work it for his own +private ends. He had once succeeded in his dark plot against her father. +Might not his present “plan,” about which he and his associate talked, +be equally successful? Mrs. Dunbar had called her a “marplot.” To mar +the plot of this man, and avenge upon him the wrongs of her father, +would be sweet indeed; but could it be possible for her to do it? That +was the question. + +[Illustration: “CRIME! GUILT!”] + +The next morning came, and Edith rose full of a new purpose. She thought +of her efforts on the preceding day, and concluded that she had made one +great mistake. She saw now that Miss Plympton had most probably called, +and had not been admitted. If she had only remained by the gate, she +could have seen her friend, and told her all. That she had not thought +of this before was now a matter of the deepest regret, and she could +only hope that it might not yet be too late. She determined to go to +the gates at once and watch. + +She therefore hurried down to the gates as soon as she could. No efforts +were made to prevent her. She had feared that she might be locked up in +the Hall; but, to her surprise and relief, she was not. Such forbearance +made her situation still more perplexing. It was evident that Wiggins +hesitated about proceeding to extremities with her, and did not venture +as yet to exercise more than a general restraint. + +Arriving at the gate, Edith sat down close by it on a seat in front of +the porter's lodge, and waited and watched. The gates were of iron bars, +so that it was easy to see through them, and the road ran in front. The +road was not much frequented, however. An occasional farmer's wagon or +solitary pedestrian formed the only life that was visible outside. The +porter watched her for some time in surprise, but said nothing. Hugo +came up after about half an hour and talked with the porter, after which +he loitered about within sight of Edith. Of all this, however, Edith +took no notice whatever; it was what she expected. + +The hours of the day passed by, but there were no signs of Miss +Plympton. As hour after hour passed, Edith's hopes grew fainter and +fainter. She longed to ask the porter whether she had called or not, but +could not bring herself to do so--first, because she did not like to +destroy all hope; and secondly, because she did not wish to hold any +further communication with him. + +She sat there all day long. Miss Plympton did not come. The hours passed +by. Evening came. She bad eaten nothing all day. She was faint and +weary, and almost in despair. But to wait longer was useless now; so she +rose from her seat, and with feeble footsteps returned to the house. + +Early the next morning she returned to the gates to take up her station +as before and watch. She did not hope to see Miss Plympton now; for she +concluded that she had called already, had been turned back, and was now +perhaps engaged in arranging for her rescue. But Edith could not wait +for that. She determined to do something herself. She resolved to accost +all passers-by and tell them her situation. In this way she thought she +might excite the world outside, and lead to some interposition in her +behalf. + +Full of this purpose, she went down to the gates. As she drew near, the +first sight of them sent a feeling of dismay to her heart. A change had +taken place. Something had been done during the night. + +She drew nearer. + +In a few moments she saw it all. + +The gates had been boarded up during the night so that it was impossible +to see the road. + +One look was enough. This last hope was destroyed. There was nothing to +be done here; and so, sick at heart, Edith turned back toward the Hall. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +MISS PLYMPTON BAFFLED. + +Meanwhile Miss Plympton had been undergoing various phases of feeling, +alternating between anxiety and hope, and terminating in a resolution +which brought forth important results. On the departure of Edith she had +watched her till her carriage was out of sight, and then sadly and +reluctantly had given orders to drive back to Dalton. On arriving there +she put up at the inn, and though full of anxiety, she tried to wait as +patiently as possible for the following day. + +Accustomed to move among the great, and to regard them with a certain +reverence that pervades the middle classes in England, she tried first +of all to prevent any village gossip about Edith, and so she endeavored, +by warning and by bribery, to induce the maid, the footman, and the +driver to say nothing about the scene at the gates. Another day, she +hoped, would make it all right, and idle gossip should, never be allowed +to meddle with the name of Edith in any way. + +That evening Edith's note was brought to her. On receiving it she read +it hurriedly, and then went down to see who had brought it. She saw the +porter, who told her that he had come for Miss Dalton's baggage. The +porter treated her with an effort to be respectful, which appeared to +Miss Plympton to be a good omen. She offered him a piece of gold to +propitiate him still further, but, to her amazement, it was declined. + +“Thank ye kindly, mum,” said he, touching his hat, “an' hope it's no +offense; but we beant allowed to take nothin' savin' an' except what he +gives us hisself.” + +A moment's surprise was succeeded by the thought that even this was of +good omen, since it seemed to indicate a sort of rough, bluff, sterling +honesty, which could not co-exist with a nature that was altogether bad. + +Returning to her room, she once more read Edith's note. Its tone +encouraged her greatly. It seemed to show that all her fears had been +vain, and that, whatever the character of Wiggins might be, there could +be no immediate danger to Edith. So great, indeed, was the encouragement +which she received from this note that she began to think her fears +foolish, and to believe that in England no possible harm could befall +one in Edith's position. It was with such thoughts, and the hope of +seeing Edith on the following day, that she retired for the night. + +Her sleep was refreshing, and she did not awake till it was quite late. +On awaking and finding what time it was, she rose and dressed hastily. +Breakfast was served, and she began to look out for Edith. + +Time passed, however, and Edith did not make her appearance. Miss +Plympton tried to account for the delay in every possible way, and +consoled herself as long as she could by the thought that she had been +very much fatigued; and had not risen until very late. But the hours +passed, and at length noon came without bringing any signs of her, and +Miss Plympton was unable any longer to repress her uneasiness. This +inaction grew intolerable, and she determined to set forth and see for +herself. Accordingly she had the carriage made ready, and in a short +time reached the park gate. + +She had to ring for a long time before any one appeared; but at length, +after fully an hour's delay, the porter came. He touched his hat on +seeing her, but stood on the other side of the iron gateway without +opening it. + +“Is Miss Dalton at the Hall?” asked Miss Plympton. + +“Yes, mum.” + +“I wish to see her.” + +“Beg yer pardon, mum, but there be no callers allowed in.” + +“Oh, it's different with me. Miss Dalton wrote that she would come to +see me this morning, and I'm afraid she's ill, so I have come to see +her.” + +“She beant ill, then,” said the other. + +Miss Plympton reflected that it was of no use to talk to this man, and +thought of Wiggins himself. + +“Is your master in?” she asked. + +“He is, mum.” + +“Tell him I wish to see him.” + +“Beggin' yer pardon, mum, he never sees nobody.” + +“But I wish to see him on business of a very important kind.” + +“Can't help it, mum--beggin' yer pardon; but I've got to obey orders, +mum.” + +“My good fellow, can't you take my message, or let me in to see him?” + +“Sorry, mum, but I can't; I've got my orders.” + +“But he can't know. This business is so important that it will be very +bad for him if he does not see me now. Tell him that. Go, now; you +can't know what his business is. Tell him that--” + +“Well, mum, if you insist, I don't mind goin',” said the porter. “I'll +tell him.” + +“Say that I wish to see him at once, and that the business I have is of +the utmost importance.” + +The porter touched his hat, and walked off. + +Now followed another period of waiting. It was fully half an hour +before he returned. Miss Plympton saw that he was alone, and her heart +sank within her. + +“Mr. Wiggins presents his respects, mum,” said he, “and says he's sorry +he can't see you.” + +“Did you tell him that my business was of the most important kind?” + +“Yes, mum.” + +“And he refuses to come?” + +“He says he's sorry he can't see you, mum.” + +At this Miss Plympton was silent for a little while. + +“Come,” said she at last, “my good fellow, if I could only see him, and +mention one or two things, he would be very glad. It will be very much +to his injury if he does not see me. You appear to be a faithful +servant, and to care for your master's interests, so do you let me pass +through, and I'll engage to keep you from all harm or punishment of any +kind.” + +“Sorry, mum, to refuse; but orders is orders, mum,” said the man, +stolidly. + +“If I am not allowed to go in,” said Miss Plympton, “surely Miss Dalton +will come here to see me--here at the gates.” + +“I don't know, mum.” + +“Well, you go and tell her that I am here.” + +“Sorry to refuse, mum; but it's agin orders. No callers allowed, mum.” + +“But Miss Dalton can come as far as the gates.” + +The man looked puzzled, and then muttered, + +“Mr. Wiggins's orders, mum, is to have no communication.” + +“Ah!” said Miss Plympton; “so she is shut up here.” + +“Beggin' your pardon, mum, she beant shut up at all nowheres: she goes +about.” + +“Then why can't I see her here?” + +“Agin orders, mum.” + +By this Miss Plympton understood the worst, and fully believed that +Edith was under strict restraint. + +“My good man,” said she, solemnly, “you and your master are committing a +great crime in daring to keep any one here in imprisonment, especially +the one who owns these estates. I warn him now to beware, for Miss +Dalton has powerful friends. As to you, you may not know that you are +breaking the law now, and are liable to transportation for life. Come, +don't break the laws and incur such danger. If I choose I can bring here +to-morrow the officers of the law, release Miss Dalton, and have you and +your master arrested.” + +At this the man looked troubled. He scratched his head, drew a long +breath, and looked at the ground with a frown. + +Miss Plympton, seeing that this shot had told, followed it up. + +“Refuse me admittance,” said she, “and I will bring back those who will +come here in the name of the law; but if you let me in, I promise to say +nothing about this matter.” + +The porter now seemed to have recovered himself. He raised his head, and +the old monotonous reply came: + +“Sorry, mum, but it's agin orders.” + +Miss Plympton made one further attempt. She drew forth her purse, and +displayed its contents. + +“See,” said she, “you will be doing a kindness to your master, and you +shall have all this.” + +But the man did not look at the purse at all. His eyes were fixed on +Miss Plympton, and he merely replied as before: + +“Sorry, mum, but it's agin orders.” + +“Very well,” said Miss Plympton. “There is only one thing left for me to +do. I wish you to take one final message from me to your master. Tell +him this: It is my intention to procure help for Miss Dalton at once. +Tell him that her uncle, Sir Lionel Dudleigh, is now in England, and +that this very day I shall set out for Dudleigh Manor, I shall tell Sir +Lionel how his niece is situated, and bring him here. He will come with +his own claims and the officers of the law. Wiggins shall be arrested, +together with all who have aided and abetted him. If he refuses to admit +me now, I shall quit this place and go at once without delay. Go, now, +and make haste, for this matter is of too great importance to be decided +by you.” + +The porter seemed to think so too, for, touching his hat, he at once +withdrew. This time he was gone longer than before, and Miss Plympton +waited for his return with great impatience. At length he came back. + +“Mr. Wiggins presents his respects, mum,” said the man, “and says he is +not breakin' any law at all, and that if you choose to go for Sir +Lionel, he is willin' to have you do so. He says if you fetch Sir +Lionel here he will let both of you in. He says he'll be very happy +indeed to see Sir Lionel.” + +This singular way of taking what was meant to be a most formidable +threat took away Miss Plympton's last hope, and reduced her to a state +of dejection and bewilderment; for when, she sent that threatening +message, it was not because she had really any fixed design of carrying +it into execution, but rather because the name of Sir Lionel Dudleigh +seemed to her to be one which might overawe the mind of Wiggins. She +thought that by reminding Wiggins of the existence of this powerful +relative, and by threatening an instant appeal to him, she would be able +to terrify him into releasing Edith. But his cool answer destroyed this +hope. She felt puzzled at his assertion that he was not breaking any +law, when he himself must know well that such a thing as the +imprisonment of a free subject is a crime of the most serious character; +but she felt even more puzzled at his reference to Sir Lionel. Her own +connection and association with the aristocracy had never destroyed that +deep unswerving reverence for them with which she had set out in life; +and to find Wiggins treating the mention of Sir Lionel with such cool +indifference was to her an incomprehensible thing. But there was nothing +more for her to do at this place, and feeling the necessity of immediate +action, she at once drove back to the inn. + +Arriving here, she hoped that her prompt departure might frighten +Wiggins, and lead to a change in his decision, and she concluded to +remain that evening and that night, so as to give him time for +repentance. + +Nothing was left now but to devise some plan of action. First of all, +she made inquiries of the landlord about Wiggins. That personage could +tell her very little about him. According to him, Mr. Wiggins was a +lawyer from Liverpool, who had been intrusted with the management of the +Dalton estate for the past ten years. He was a very quiet man, devoted +to his business, and until latterly had never been at Dalton oftener or +longer than was absolutely necessary. Of late, however, he had been +living here for some months, and it was believed that he intended to +stay here the greater part of his time. + +This was all that Miss Plympton was able to learn about Wiggins. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +SIR LIONEL DUDLEIGH. + +Although Miss Plympton had indulged the hope that Wiggins might relent, +the time passed without bringing any message from him, and every hour as +it passed made a more pressing necessity for her to decide on some plan. +The more she thought over the matter, the more she thought that her best +plan of action lay in that very threat which she had made to Wiggins. +True, it had been made as a mere threat, but on thinking it over it +seemed the best policy. + +The only other course lay in action of her own. She might find some +lawyer and get him to interpose. But this involved a responsibility on +her part from which she shrank so long as there was any other who had a +better right to incur such responsibility. Now Sir Lionel was Edith's +uncle by marriage; and though there had been trouble between husband and +wife, she yet felt sure that one in Edith's position would excite the +sympathy of every generous heart, and rouse Sir Lionel to action. One +thing might, indeed, prevent, and that was the disgrace that had fallen +upon the Dalton name. This might prevent Sir Lionel from taking any +part; but Miss Plympton was sanguine, and hoped that Sir Lionel's +opinion of the condemned man might be like her own, in which case he +would be willing, nay, eager, to save the daughter. + +The first thing for her to do was to find out where Sir Lionel Dudleigh +lived. About this there was no difficulty. Burke's _Peerage and +Baronetage_ is a book which in most English homes lies beside the +Bible in the most honored place, and this inn, humble though it might +be, was not without a copy of this great Bible of society. This Miss +Plympton procured, and at once set herself to the study of its pages. It +was not without a feeling of self-abasement that she did this, for she +prided herself upon her extensive knowledge of the aristocracy, but here +she was deplorably ignorant. She comforted herself, however, by the +thought that her ignorance was the fault of Sir Lionel, who had lived a +somewhat quiet life, and had never thrust very much of his personality +before the world, and no one but Sir Bernard Burke could be expected to +find out his abode. That great authority, of course, gave her all the +information that she wanted, and she found that Dudleigh Manor was +situated not very far distant from Cheltenham. This would require a +detour which would involve time and trouble; but, under the +circumstances, she would have been willing to do far more, even though +Plympton Terrace should be without its tutelary genius in the mean time. + +On the next morning Miss Plympton left Dalton on her way to Dudleigh +Manor. She was still full of anxiety about Edith, but the thought that +she was doing something, and the sanguine anticipations in which she +indulged with reference to Sir Lionel, did much to lessen her cares. In +due time she reached her destination, and after a drive from the station +at which she got out, of a mile or two, she found herself within Sir +Lionel's grounds. These were extensive and well kept, while the +manor-house itself was one of the noblest of its class. + +After she had waited for some time in an elegant drawing-room a servant +came with Sir Lionel's apologies for not coming to see her, on account +of a severe attack of gout, and asking her to come up stairs to the +library. Miss Plympton followed the servant to that quarter, and soon +found herself in Sir Lionel's presence. + +He was seated in an arm-chair, with his right foot wrapped in flannels +and resting upon a stool in front of him, in orthodox gout style. He was +a man apparently of about fifty years of age, in a state of excellent +preservation. His head was partially bald, his brow smooth, his cheeks +rounded and a little florid, with whiskers on each side of his face, and +smooth-shaven chin. There was a pleasant smile on his face, which +seemed natural to that smooth and rosy countenance; and this, together +with a general tendency to corpulency, which was rather becoming to the +man, and the gouty foot, all served to suggest high living and +self-indulgence. + +“I really feel ashamed of myself, Miss--ah--Plympton,” said Sir Lionel, +“for giving you so much trouble; but gout, you know, my dear madam, is +not to be trifled with; and I assure you if it had been any one else I +should have declined seeing them. But of course I could not refuse to +see you, and the only way I could have that pleasure was by begging you +to come here. The mountain could not come to Mohammed, and so Mohammed, +you know--eh? Ha, ha, ha!” + +The baronet had a cheery voice, rich and mellow, and his laugh was +ringing and musical. His courtesy, his pleasant smile, his genial air, +and his hearty voice and laugh, all filled Miss Plympton with sincere +delight, and she felt that this man could do nothing else than take up +Edith's cause with the utmost ardor. + +After a few apologies for troubling him, which Sir Lionel turned aside +by protesting that apologies were only due from himself to her, Miss +Plympton began to state the object of her visit. + +“In the first place, Sir Lionel,” said she, “I take it for granted that +you have heard of the death of Frederick Dalton, Esquire, in Van +Diemen's Land.” + +The smile on the baronet's face died out at this, and his eyes fixed +themselves upon Miss Plympton's face with quick and eager curiosity. +Then he turned his face aside. A table stood on his right, with some +wine and glasses within reach. + +“Excuse me,” said he; “I beg ten thousand pardons; but _won't_ you +take a glass of wine? No!” he continued, as Miss Plympton politely +declined; “really I think you had better.” And then, pouring out a +glass, he sipped it, and looked at her once more. “Poor Dalton!” said +he, with a sigh. “Yes, of course, I saw it in the papers. A most +melancholy affair. Poor Dalton! Let me inform you, madam, that he was +more sinned against than sinning.” Sir Lionel sighed. + +“Oh, Sir Lionel,” exclaimed Miss Plympton, earnestly, “how it rejoices +my heart to hear you say that! For my part, I never, never had one +single doubt of his perfect innocence.” + +“Nor had I,” said Sir Lionel, firmly, pouring out another glass +of wine. “It was excessively unfortunate. Had I not myself been +in--in--ah--affliction at the time, I might have done something to help +him.” + +“Oh, Sir Lionel, I'm sure you would!” + +“Yes, madam,” said Sir Lionel; “but domestic circumstances to which I am +not at liberty to allude, of a painful character, put it out of my power +to--to--ah--to interpose. I was away when the arrest took place, and +when I returned it was too late.” + +“So I have understood,” said Miss Plympton; “and it is because I have +felt so sure of your goodness of heart that I have come now on this +visit.” + +“I hope that you will give me the chance of showing you that your +confidence in me is well founded,” said Sir Lionel, cordially. + +“You may have heard, Sir Lionel,” began Miss Plympton, “that about the +time of the trial Mrs. Dalton died. She died of a broken heart. It was +very, very sudden.” + +Sir Lionel sighed heavily. + +“She thought enough of me to consider me her friend; and as she did not +think her own relatives had shown her sufficient sympathy, she intrusted +her child to me when dying. I have had that child ever since. She is +now eighteen, and of age.” + +“A girl! God bless my soul!” said Sir Lionel, thoughtfully. “And does +she know about this--this--melancholy business?” + +“I deemed it my duty to tell her, Sir Lionel,” said Miss Plympton, +gravely. + +“I don't know about that. I don't--know--about--that,” said Sir Lionel, +pursing up his lips and frowning. “Best wait a while; but too late now, +and the mischief's done. Well, and how did she take it?” + +“Nobly, Sir Lionel. At first she was quite crushed, but afterward +rallied under it. But she could not remain with me any longer, and +insisted on going home--as she called it--to Dalton Hall.” + +“Dalton Hall! Yes--well? Poor girl! poor little girl!--an orphan. +Dalton Hall! Well?” + +“And now I come to the real purpose of my visit,” said Miss Plympton; +and thereupon she went on to give him a minute and detailed account of +their arrival at Dalton and the reception there, together with the +subsequent events. + +To all this Sir Lionel listened without one word of any kind, and at +length Miss Plympton ended. + +“Well, madam,” said he, “it may surprise you that I have not made any +comments on your astonishing story. If it had been less serious I might +have done so. I might even have indulged in profane language--a habit, +madam, which, I am sorry to say, I have acquired from not frequenting +more the society of ladies. But this business, madam, is beyond comment, +and I can only say that I rejoice and feel grateful that you decided as +you did, and have come at once to me.” + +“Oh, I am so glad, and such a load is taken off my mind!” exclaimed Miss +Plympton, fervently. + +“Why, madam, I am utterly astounded at this man's audacity,” cried Sir +Lionel--“utterly astounded! To think that any man should ever venture +upon such a course! It's positively almost inconceivable. And so you +tell me that she is there now?” + +“Yes.” + +“Under the lock and key, so to speak, of this fellow?” + +“Yes.” + +“And she isn't allowed even to go to the gate?” + +“No.” + +“The man's mad,” cried Sir Lionel--“mad, raving mad. Did you see him?” + +“No. He wouldn't consent to see me.” + +“Why, I tell you, he's a madman,” said Sir Lionel. “He must be. No sane +man could think of such a thing. Why, this is England, and the +nineteenth century. The days of private imprisonment are over. He's mad! +The man's mad!” + +“But what is to be done, Sir Lionel?” asked Miss Plympton, impatiently. + +“Done!” cried Sir Lionel--“every thing! First, we must get Miss Dalton +out of that rascal's clutches; then we, must hand that fellow and his +confederates over to the law. And if it don't end in Botany Bay and +hard labor for life, then there's no law in the land. Why, who is he? A +pettifogger--a miserable low-born, low-bred, Liverpool pettifogger!” + +“Do you know him?” + +“Know him, madam! I know all about him--that is, as much as I want to +know.” + +“Do you know anything about the relations that formerly existed between +him and Mr. Frederick Dalton?” + +“Relations!” said Sir Lionel, pouring out another glass of +wine--“relations, madam--that is--ah--to say--ah--business relations, +madam? Well, they were those of patron and client, I believe--nothing +more. I believe that this Wiggins was one to whom poor Dalton behaved +very kindly--made him what he is, in fact--and this is his reward! A +pettifogger, by Heaven!--a pettifogger! Seizing the Dalton estates, the +scoundrel, and then putting Miss Dalton under lock and key! Why, the +man's mad--mad! yes, a raving maniac! He is, by Heaven!” + +“And now, Sir Lionel, when shall we be able to effect her release!” + +“Leave it all to me. Leave it all to me, madam. This infernal gout of +mine ties me up, but I'll take measures this very day; I'll send off to +Dalton an agent that will free Miss Dalton and bring her here. Leave it +to me. If I don't go, I'll send--yes, by Heaven, I'll send my son. But +give yourself no trouble, madam. Miss Dalton is as good as free at this +moment, and Wiggins is as good as in jail.” + +Miss Plympton now asked Sir Lionel if he knew what Wiggins meant by his +answer to her threat, and she repeated the message. Sir Lionel listened +with compressed lips and a frowning brow. After Miss Plympton had told +it he sat for some minutes in silent thought. + +“So that is what he said, is it!” exclaimed Sir Lionel at last. “Well, +madam, we shall see about that. But don't give yourself a moment's +uneasiness. I take the matter in hand from this moment. The insolence of +this fellow, Wiggins, is unparalleled, madam; but be assured all this +shall surely recoil on his own head with terrible effect.” + +Some further conversation followed to the same effect, and at length +Miss Plympton took her leave, full of hope and without a care. Sir +Lionel had hinted that she was not needed any more in the matter; and as +she felt a natural delicacy about obtruding her services, she decided to +go back to Plympton Terrace and wait. + +Accordingly, Miss Plympton, on leaving Dudleigh Manor, went back to +Plympton Terrace. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +LEON + +For some time after Miss Plympton's departure Sir Lionel remained buried +in thought. At length he rang the bell. + +A servant appeared. + +“Is Captain Dudleigh here yet?” asked Sir Lionel. + +“Yes, Sir Lionel.” + +“Tell him that I want to see him.” + +The servant departed, and in a short time the door opened and a young +man entered. He was tall, muscular, well-formed, and with sufficient +resemblance to Sir Lionel to indicate that he was his son. For some time +Sir Lionel took no notice of him, and Captain Dudleigh, throwing himself +in a lounging attitude upon a chair, leaned his head back, and stared at +the ceiling. At length he grew tired of this, and sitting erect, he +looked at Sir Lionel, who was leaning forward, with his elbow on the arm +of his chair, supporting his head in his hand, and evidently quite +oblivious of the presence of any one. + +“Did you wish to see me, Sir?” said Captain Dudleigh at length. + +Sir Lionel started and raised his head. + +“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Is that you, Leon? I believe I must have been +asleep. Have you been waiting long? Why didn't you wake me? I sent for +you, didn't I? Oh yes. Let me see. It is a business of the greatest +importance, and I'm deuced glad that you are here, for any delay would +be bad for all concerned.” + +Sir Lionel paused for a few moments, and then began: + +“You know about that--that melancholy story of--of poor Dalton.” + +Leon nodded. + +“Did you hear that he is dead?” + +“Well, some paragraphs have been going the rounds of the papers to that +effect, though why they should drag the poor devil from his seclusion, +even to announce his death, is somewhat strange to me.” + +“Well, he is dead, poor Dalton!” said Sir Lionel, “and--and so there's +an end of him and that melancholy business. By-the-way, I suppose you +haven't heard any particulars as to his death?” + +“No,” said Leon, “nothing beyond the bare fact. Besides, what does it +matter? When a man's dead, under such circumstances, too, no one cares +whether he died of fever or gunshot.” + +“True,” said Sir Lionel, with a sigh. “It isn't likely that any one +would trouble himself to find out how poor Dalton died. Well, that is +the first thing that I had to mention. And now there is another thing. +You know, of course, that he left a daughter, who has been growing up +all these years, and is now of age. She has been living under the care +of a Miss Plympton, from whom I had the pleasure of a call this morning, +and who appears to be a remarkably sensible and right-minded person.” + +“A daughter?” said Leon. “Oh yes! Of course I remember. And of age! +Well, I never thought of that. Why, she must be heiress to the immense +Dalton property. Of age, and still at school! What's her name? I really +forget it, and it's odd too, for, after all, she's my own cousin, in +spite of the short-comings of her father and--and other people.” + +“Yes, Leon,” said, Sir Lionel, “you're right. She is your own cousin. As +to her father, you must remember how I have always said that he was +innocent, and sinned against rather than sinning. Heaven forbid that we +should visit on this poor child the disgrace of her father, when he was +not guilty at all. I feel confident, Leon, that you will espouse her +cause as eagerly as I do; and since I am prevented from doing any thing +by this infernal gout, I look to you to represent me in this business, +and bring that infernal scoundrel to justice.” + +“Infernal scoundrel! What infernal scoundrel?” + +“Why, this Wiggins.” + +“Wiggins?” + +“Yes. The madman that is trying to shut up Edith, and keep her under +lock and key.” + +“Edith! Who's Edith? What, Dalton's daughter? Oh, is that her name? But +what do you mean? What madman? what lock and key?” + +“You know Wiggins, don't you?” asked Sir Lionel. + +“Which Wiggins? There are several that I know--Wiggins the sausage man, +Wiggins the rat-catcher, Wig--” + +“I mean John Wiggins, of John Wiggins and Company, solicitors, +Liverpool. You know them perfectly well. I sent you there once.” + +“Yes,” said Leon, slowly, “I remember.” + +“What sort of a man was this John Wiggins himself when you saw him?” + +“Oh, an ordinary-looking person--grave, quiet, sensible, cool as a +clock, and very reticent. I told you all about him.” + +“Yes, but I didn't know but that you might remember something that would +throw light on his present actions. You went there to ask some questions +in my name with reference to poor Dalton, and the disposal of his +property.” + +“Yes, and got about as little satisfaction as one could get.” + +“He was not communicative.” + +“Not at all. Every answer was an evasion. What little I did get out of +him had to be dragged out. The most important questions he positively +refused to answer.” + +“Of course. I remember all that, for I was the one who wished to know, +and consequently his refusal to answer affected me most of all. I +wondered at the time, and thought that it might be some quiet plan of +his, but I really had no idea of the audacity of his plans.” + +“How is that?” + +“Wait a moment. Did you see anything in this man that could excite the +suspicion that he was at all flighty or insane?” + +“Insane! Certainly not. He was, on the contrary, the sanest person I +ever met with.” + +“Well, then, he must have become insane since. I've no doubt that he has +for years been planning to get control of the Dalton property; and now, +when he has become insane, he is still animated by this ruling passion, +and has gone to work to gratify it in this mad way.” + +“Mad way? What mad way? I don't understand.” + +“Well, I'll tell you all about it. I merely wished to get your unbiased +opinion of the man first;” and upon this Sir Lionel told him the whole +story which Miss Plympton had narrated to him. To all this Leon listened +with the deepest interest and the most profound astonishment, +interrupting his father by frequent questions and exclamations. + +“What can be his design?” said Leon. “He must have some plan in his +head.” + +“Plan? a mad plan enough!” exclaimed Sir Lionel. “It is clearly nothing +else than an attempt to get control of the property by a _coup de +main_.” + +“Well, the opinion that I formed of Wiggins is that he is altogether too +shrewd and deep a man to undertake any thing without seeing his way +clear to success!” + +“The man's mad!” cried Sir Lionel. “How can any sane man hope to succeed +in this? Why, no one can set up a private prison-house in that style. +If the law allowed that, I know of one person who could set up a +private jail, and keep it pretty well filled, too.” + +“An idea strikes me,” said Leon, “which may explain this on other +grounds than madness, and which is quite in accordance with Wiggins's +character. He has been the agent of the estates for these ten years, and +though he was very close and uncommunicative about the extent of his +powers and the nature of his connection with Dalton, yet it is evident +that he has had Dalton's confidence to the highest degree; and I think +that before Dalton's unfortunate business, he must have had some +influence over him. Perhaps he has persuaded Dalton to make him the +guardian of his daughter.” + +“Well, what good would that do?” asked Sir Lionel. + +“Do you know any thing about the law of guardianship?” + +“Not much.” + +“Well, it seems to me, from what I have heard, that a guardian has a +great many very peculiar rights. He stands in a father's place. He can +choose such society for his ward as he likes, and can shut her up, just +as a father might. In this instance Wiggins may be standing on his +rights, and the knowledge of this may be the reason why he defied you so +insolently.” + +Sir Lionel looked annoyed, and was silent for a few moments. + +“I don't believe it,” said he; “I don't believe any thing of the kind. I +don't believe any law will allow a man to exercise such control over +another just because he or she is a minor. Besides, even if it were so, +Edith is of age, and this restraint can not be kept up. What good would +it do, then, for him to imprison her for three or four months? At the +end of that time she must escape from his control. Besides, even on the +ground that he is _in loco parentis_, you must remember that there +are limits even to a father's authority. I doubt whether even a father +would be allowed to imprison, a daughter without cause.” + +“But this imprisonment may only be a restriction within the grounds. The +law can not prevent that. Oh, the fact is, this guardianship law is a +very queer thing, and we shall find that Wiggins has as much right over +her as if he were her father. So we must go to work carefully; and my +idea is that it would be best to see him first of all, before we do any +thing, so as to see how it is.” + +“At any rate,” said Sir Lionel, “we can force him to show by what right +he controls her liberty. The law of guardianship can not override the +_habeas corpus_ act, and the liberty of the subject is provided +for, after all. If we once get Edith out of his control, it will be +difficult for him to get her back again, even if the law did decide in +his favor. Still I think there is a good deal in what you say, and it +certainly is best not to be too hasty about it. An interview with him, +first of all, will be decidedly the best thing. I think, before going +there, you had better see my solicitors in London. You see I intrust the +management of this affair to you, Leon, for this infernal gout ties me +up here closer than poor Edith at Dalton Hall. You had better set about +it at once. Go first to London, see my solicitors, find out about the +law of guardianship, and also see what we had better do. Then, if they +approve of it, go to Dalton Hall and see Wiggins. I don't think that you +are the sort of man who can be turned back at the gates by that ruffian +porter. You must also write me what the solicitors say, for I think I +had better keep Miss Plympton informed about the progress of affairs, +partly to satisfy her anxiety, and partly to present her from taking any +independent action which may embarrass our course of conduct.” + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +LUCY. + +About a week after the conversation detailed in the last chapter, the +train stopped at the little station near Dalton village, and Leon +Dudleigh stepped out. At the same time a woman got out of another +carriage in the train. She was dressed in black, and a crape veil +concealed her face. Leon Dudleigh stood and looked about for a few +moments in search of some vehicle in which to complete his journey, and +as the train went on he walked into the little station-house to make +inquiries. The woman followed slowly. After exchanging a few words with +the ticket clerk, Leon found out that no vehicle was to be had in the +neighborhood, and with an exclamation of impatience he told the clerk +that he supposed he would have to walk, and at the same time asked him +some questions about getting his luggage forwarded to the inn at Dalton. +Having received a satisfactory answer, he turned to the door and walked +toward the village. + +[Illustration: “AT THAT MOMENT THE WOMAN RAISED HER VEIL.”] + +The woman who had followed him into the station-house had already left +it, and was walking along the road ahead of him. She was walking at a +slow pace, and before long Leon came up with her. He had not noticed her +particularly, and was now about passing her, when at that very moment +the woman raised her veil, and turned about so as to face him. + +At the sight of her face Leon uttered an exclamation of amazement and +started back. + +“Lucy!” he exclaimed, in a tone of deep and bitter vexation. + +“Aha, Leon!” said the woman, with a smile. “You thought you would give +me the slip. You didn't know what a watch I was keeping over you.” + +At this Leon regarded her in gloomy silence, while the expression of +deep vexation remained unchanged on his face. + +The woman who had thus followed him was certainly not one who ought to +inspire any thing like vexation. Her face was beautiful in outline and +expression. Her eyes were dark and animated, her tone and manner +indicated good-breeding and refinement, though these were somewhat more +vivacious than is common with English ladies. + +“I don't see what brought _you_ here,” said Leon at last. + +“I might say the same of you, _mon cher_,” replied the lady, “but I +have a faint idea, and I have no desire to give you too much liberty.” + +“It's some more of your confounded jealousy,” said Leon, angrily. “My +business here is a very delicate one indeed. I may have to do it +incognito, and it may ruin all if I have any one here who knows me.” + +“Incognito?” said the lady. “That will be charming; and if so, who can +help you better than I? I can be your mother, or your grandmother, or +your business partner, or any thing. You ought to have insisted on my +accompanying you.” + +The light tone of raillery in which this was spoken did not in any way +mollify the chagrin of the other, who still looked at her with a frown, +and as she ended, growled out, + +“I don't see how you got on my track, confound it!” + +“Nothing easier,” said the lady. “You didn't take any pains to hide your +tracks.” + +“But I told you I was going back to Dudleigh.” + +“I know you did, _mon cher_; but do you think I believed you?” + +“I don't see how you followed me,” said Leon again. + +“Well, I don't intend to let you know all my resources,” said the lady, +with a smile, “for fear you will baffle me some other time. But now +come, don't let yourself get into a passion. Look at me, and see how +good-natured and sweet-tempered I am. Your reception of me is really +quite heart-rending, and I have a great mind to go back again at once +and leave you.” + +“I wish you would,” said Leon, rudely. + +“But I won't,” said the lady. “So come, be yourself again, for you can +be sweet-tempered if you only try hard, you know.” + +“Now see here, Lucy,” said Leon, sternly, “you don't know what you're +doing. It's all very well to pass it off as a frolic, but it won't do. +This business of mine is too serious to admit of trifling. If it were my +own affair, I wouldn't care; and even if I didn't want you, I should +submit with a good grace. But this is a matter of extreme delicacy, and +my father has sent me here because he was unable to come himself. It is +a--a law matter. I went to London merely to see the solicitors. I didn't +tell a soul about my business, and I thought that no one knew I was +coming here except my father and the solicitors.” + +“Well, but I'm always an exception, you know,” said the lady, +pleasantly. + +“Oh, see here, now,” said the other, “it's all very well for you to +meddle with my own affairs; but you are now forcing yourself into the +midst of the concerns of others--the business affairs of two great +estates. I must attend to this alone.” + +“_Mon cher_,” said the lady, with unalterable placidity, “business +is not one of your strong points. You really are not fit to manage any +important matter alone. At Dudleigh you have your papa to advise with, +at London your papa's solicitors, and here at Dalton you need a sound +adviser too. Now is there any one in whom you could put greater +confidence, or who could give you better advice on innumerable matters, +than the unworthy being who now addresses you? Come, don't keep up the +sulks any longer. They are not becoming to your style of beauty. For my +part, I never sulk. If you will reflect for a moment, you will see that +it is really a great advantage for you to have with you one so sagacious +and shrewd as I am; and now that the first moment of irritation has +passed, I trust you will look upon my humble offer of service with more +propitious eyes.” + +Something in these words seemed to strike Leon favorably, for the +vexation passed away from his face, and he stood looking thoughtfully at +the ground, which he was mechanically smoothing over with his foot. The +lady said no more, but watched him attentively, in silence, waiting to +see the result of his present meditations. + +“Well,” said he at last, “I don't know but that something may arise in +this business, Lucy, in which you may be able to do something--though +what it may be I can not tell just now.” + +“Certainly,” said the lady, “if you really are thinking of an incognito, +my services may be of the utmost importance.” + +“There's something in that,” said Leon. + +“But whether the incognito is advisable or not should first be seen. Now +if you would honor me with your confidence to ever so small an extent, I +could offer an opinion on that point which might be worth having. And I +will set you a good example by giving you my confidence. Frankly, then, +the only reason why I followed you was because I found out that there +was a lady in the case.” + +“So that's it, is it!” said Leon, looking at her curiously. + +“Yes,” said the lady. “And I heard that your father sent you, and that +you had been talking with his solicitors. Now as you are not in the +habit of doing business with your father, or talking with his +solicitors, the thing struck me very forcibly; and as there was a +lady--in fact, a rich heiress--in the case, and as you are frightfully +in debt, I concluded that it would be well for me to see how the +business proceeded; for I sometimes do not have that confidence in you, +Leon, which I should like to have.” + +This was spoken in a serious and mournful voice which was totally +different from the tone of raillery in which she had at first indulged. +As she concluded she fixed her eyes sadly on Leon, and he saw that they +were suffused with tears. + +“You preposterous little goose!” said Leon. “There never was a wilder, +a sillier, and at the same time a more utterly groundless fancy than +this. Why, to begin with, the lady is my cousin.” + +“I know,” said the lady, sadly. + +“It seems to me you found out every thing, though how the deuce you +contrived it is more than I can tell,” said Leon. + +“Our faculties are very much sharpened where our interests are +concerned,” said the lady, sententiously. + +“Now, see here,” said Leon. “It is true that this lady is my cousin, and +that she is an heiress, and that I am infernally hard up, and that my +father sent me here, and that I have been talking with the solicitors; +but I swear to you the subject of marriage has not once been mentioned.” + +“But only thought of,” suggested the other. + +“Well, I don't know any thing about people's thoughts,” said Leon. “If +you go into that style of thing, I give up. By-the-way, you know so +much, that I suppose you know the lady's name.” + +“Oh yes: Miss Dalton--Edith Dalton.” + +“The devil!” exclaimed Leon. “Well, I confess I'm mystified. How you +could have found out all this is utterly beyond me.” + +“So you have no idea of matrimony, _mon cher_?” said the lady, +attempting to use a sprightly tone, but looking at him with a glance so +earnest that it showed what importance she attached to his reply. + +Leon was silent for a moment, and looked at the ground. At last he burst +forth impatiently: + +“Oh, confound it all! what's the use of harping forever on one string, +and putting a fellow in a corner all the time? You insist on holding an +inquisition about thoughts and intentions. How do I know any thing about +that? You may examine me about facts if you choose, but you haven't any +business to ask any thing more.” + +“Well, I suppose it _is_ rather unfair,” said the lady in a sweet +voice, “to force one to explain all one's thoughts and intentions; so, +_mon cher_, let's cry quits. At any rate, you receive me for your +ally, your adviser, your guide, philosopher, and friend. If you want +incognitos or disguises, come to me.” + +“Well, I suppose I must,” said Leon, “since you are here, and won't go; +and perhaps you may yet be really useful, but--” + +“But at first I ought to know what the present condition is of this +'business' of yours.” + +“Oh, I've no objection to tell you now, since you know so much; in fact, +I believe you know all, as it is.” + +“Well, not quite all.” + +“It seems to me,” said Leon, “if we're going to talk over this matter +any further, we might find some better place than the middle of a public +road. Let me see,” he continued, looking all around--“where shall we +go?” + +As he looked around his eyes caught sight of the little river that +flowed near, on its course through Dalton to the Bristol Channel. Some +trees grew on the margin, and beneath them was some grass. It was not +more than twenty yards away. + +“Suppose we sit there by the river,” said Leon, “and we can talk it +over.” + +The lady nodded, and the two walked to the river margin. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: “SHE WAS SEATED NEAR THE WINDOW.”] + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +A SOLEMN APPEAL. + +A few days passed away in Dalton Hall, and Edith began to understand +perfectly the nature of the restraint to which she was subjected. That +restraint involved nothing of the nature of violence. No rude or uncivil +word was spoken to her. Wiggins and Mrs. Dunbar had professed even +affection for her, and the two servants never failed to be as respectful +as they could. Her restraint was a certain environment, so as to prevent +her from leaving the park grounds. She felt walled in by a barrier +which she could not pass, but within this barrier liberty of movement +was allowed. At the same time, she knew that she was watched; and since +her first discovery of Hugo on her track, she felt sure that if she ever +went any where he would stealthily follow, and not allow her to go out +of sight. Whether he would lift his hand to prevent actual escape, if +the chance should present itself, was a thing which she could not +answer, nor did she feel inclined to try it as yet. + +During the few days that followed her first memorable experience she +made no further attempt to escape, or even to search out a way of +escape. What had become of Miss Plympton she did not know, and could +only imagine. She still indulged the hope, however, that Miss Plympton +was at Dalton, and looked forward with confidence to see her coming to +Dalton Hall, accompanied by the officers of the law, to effect her +deliverance. It was this hope that now sustained her, and prevented her +from sinking into despair. + +Of Wiggins during these few days she saw nothing more than a distant +glimpse. She remained in the room which she first occupied during the +greater part of the time. Nor did she see much of Mrs. Dunbar. From an +occasional remark she gathered that she was cleaning the drawing-room or +dusting it; but in this Edith now took no interest whatever. The Hall +was now a prison-house, and the few plans which she had been making at +first were now thrown aside and forgotten. Mrs. Dunbar brought her her +meals at regular intervals, but Edith never took the slightest notice of +her. She could not help observing at times in Mrs. Dunbar's manner, and +especially in her look, a whole world of sorrowful sympathy, but after +her unmistakable championship of Wiggins, she could not feel the +slightest confidence in her. + +At length one morning Wiggins once more called upon her. She was seated +near the window when she heard a knock. The door was already open, and +turning, she saw Wiggins. She bowed slightly, but said nothing, and +Wiggins bowed in return, after which he entered and seated himself, +fixing his solemn eyes upon her in his usual way. + +“It is a matter of great regret,” said he, “that I am forced to give +pain to one for whom I entertain so much kindness, and even, let me add, +affection. Had you made your return to this place a little less +abruptly, you would have found, I am sure, a different reception, and +your position would have been less unpleasant.” + +“Would you have allowed me my liberty,” asked Edith, “and the society of +my friends, if I had delayed longer before my return? If so, let me go +back now, and I will give you notice before coming here again.” + +Wiggins shook his head mournfully. + +“I am one,” said he, “who has had deeper sorrows than usually fall to +the lot of man; yet none, I assure you--no, not one--has ever caused me +more pain than my present false position toward you. Can you not place +some confidence in me, and think that this is all for--for your good?” + +“You speak so plaintively,” said Edith, “that I should be touched, if +your words were not belied by your acts. What do you think can +compensate for the loss of liberty? Were you ever imprisoned? Did you +ever have a jailer over you? Did you ever know what it was to be shut in +with walls over which you could not pass, and to know that the jailer's +eyes were always upon you? Wait till you have felt all this, and then +you will understand how empty and idle all your present words must be.” + +While she said these words Wiggins sat as if he had been turned to +stone. His eyes were fixed on her with a look of utter horror. His +hands trembled. As she stopped he shuddered, and hastily looked behind +him. Then another shudder passed through him. At last with a violent +effort, he recovered something of his former calm. + +“God grant,” said he, “that you may never know what I have known of all +that which you now mention!” + +His voice trembled as he spoke these words, and when he had said them he +relapsed into silence. + +“Since you have invoked the name of the Deity,” said Edith, solemnly, +“if you have any reverence for your Maker, I ask you now, in His name, +by what right you keep me here.” + +“I am your--guardian,” said Wiggins, slowly; “your--guardian; yes,” he +added, thoughtfully, “that is the word.” + +“My guardian! Who made you my guardian? Who had the right to put you +over me?” + +Wiggins paused, and raised his head, which had been bent forward for a +few moments past, looked at Edith with a softer light in his solemn +eyes, and said, in a low voice, which had a wonderful sweetness in its +intonation, + +“Your father.” + +Edith looked at him earnestly for a moment, affected in spite of herself +by his look and by his voice; but suddenly the remembrance of her wrongs +drove off completely her momentary emotion. + +“Do you think my father would have made you my guardian,” said she, “if +he had suspected what you were going to do with me?” + +“I solemnly assure you that he did know, and that he did approve.” + +At this Edith smiled. Wiggins now seemed too methodical for a madman, +and she began to understand that he was assuming these solemn airs, so +as to make an impression upon her. Having made up her mind to this, she +determined to question him further, so as to see what more he proposed +to do. + +“Your father,” said Wiggins, “was my friend; and I will do for you +whatever I would have done for him.” + +“I have no doubt of that,” said Edith. “Indeed, you are doing for me +now precisely what I have reason to understand you did for him.” + +“I do not comprehend you,” said Wiggins. + +“It is of no consequence,” said Edith. “We will let it pass. Let us +return to the subject. You assert that you are my guardian. Does that +give you the right to be my jailer--to confine me here, to cut me off +from all my friends?” + +“You use harsh words,” said Wiggins; “but nevertheless it is a fact that +the law does allow the guardian this power. It regards him in the place +of a parent. All that a father can do, a guardian can do. As a father +can restrain a child, so can a guardian, if he deems such restraint +necessary. Moreover, if the ward should escape, the law will hand him +back to his guardian, just as it would hand, back a child to its +father.” + +Not one word of this did Edith believe, and so it made no impression. +Having already got the idea in her mind that Wiggins was melodramatic, +and playing a part, she had no doubt that his words would be regulated +by the same desire that governed his acts, and would be spoken +exclusively with the view of producing an impression upon herself. She +therefore looked at him with unchanged feelings, and instantly replied: + +“It would be very fortunate for you if it were so, but for my part I +think better of the law. At the same time, since you claim all this +authority over me, I should like to know how long you think this power +will last. You do not seem to think that I am of age.” + +“That matters not,” said Wiggins. “My control over the estates and, my +guardianship over you are of such a nature that they can not cease till +your marriage.” + +“Oh, then,” said Edith, “according to that, I ought to try to get +married as soon as possible. And this, I suppose, is your sole reason +for shutting me up?” + +Wiggins said nothing, but sat looking gloomily at her. + +By his last words Edith now found what appeared to her a clew to his +whole plan. He was, or pretended to be, her guardian; he had been +appointed, or pretended to have been appointed, by her father. It might +have been so. Edith could well imagine how in previous years he had made +this false friend his executor and the guardian of his child; and then, +in the anguish of the trial and of the punishment, forgotten to annul +the deed; or Wiggins may have forged the document himself. If he really +was the false friend who had betrayed her father, and who had committed +that forgery for which her father innocently suffered, then he might +easily forge such a document as this in her father's name. + +Such was her conclusion from his words though she did not think fit to +say as much to him. What she did say, however, seemed to have affected +him, for he did not speak for some time. + +“You have no conception,” said he at length, “of the torment that some +of your careless words cause. You do not know what you do, or what you +say. There is something that I can not tell, whatever be the price of +silence--something that concerns you and me, and your father, and two +great houses--and it is this that makes me dumb, and forces me to stand +in this false position. You look upon me as the crafty, scheming +steward--one who is your pitiless jailer--and I have to bear it. But +there is something which I can say--and I warn you, or rather I implore +you, not to disbelieve me; I entreat you to let my words have some +weight. I declare to you, then, by all that is most sacred among men, +that this restraint which I ask you to undergo is out of no selfish +desire, no avarice, no lack of honor for you, and--affection, but +because of a plan which I have, the success of which concerns all of us, +and you not the least.” + +Edith listened to this without emotion, though at another time the +solemnity of such an appeal could not have failed to enforce belief. But +now Wiggins seemed only melodramatic, and every word seemed false. + +“What plan?” she asked. + +“It is this,” said, Wiggins, looking all around with his usual cautions +vigilance, and drawing nearer to her. “Your father's name is a +dishonored one--the name you bear is covered with the stain of infamy. +What would you not give if his memory could be redeemed from wrong; if +even at this late hour his character could be vindicated? You have, I +am sure, a noble and a devoted heart. You would be willing to do much +for this. But what I ask of you is very little. I ask only silence and +seclusion. If you should consent to this, my work may be done before +very long; and then, whatever may be your feelings toward me, I shall +feel that I have done my work, and nothing further that this world may +do, whether of good or evil, shall be able to affect me. I ask +this--more, I entreat it of you, I implore you, in the sacred name of an +injured father, by all his unmerited wrongs and sufferings, to unite +with me in this holy purpose, and help me to accomplish it. Do not be +deceived by appearances. Believe me, I entreat you, for your father's +sake.” + +Never were words spoken with greater apparent earnestness than these; +and never was any voice or manner more solemn and impressive. Yet upon +Edith no more effect was produced than before. When she had asked him +what his plan was, she had been prepared for this, or something like it. +She saw now that the mode by which he tried to work upon her was by +adopting the solemn and the pathetic style. The consequence was that +every gesture, every intonation, every look, seemed artificial, hollow, +and insincere. For never could she forget the one fatal fact that this +was her jailer, and that she was a helpless prisoner. More than this, he +had as good as asserted his intention of keeping her a prisoner till her +marriage, which, under such circumstances, meant simply till her death. +Not for one instant could he be brought to consent to relax the +strictness of his control over her. For such a man to make such an +appeal as this was idle; and she found herself wondering, before he had +got half through, why he should take the trouble to try to deceive her. +When he had finished she did not care to answer him, or to tell him what +was on her, mind. She was averse to quarrels, scenes, or anything +approaching to scolding or empty threats. What she did say, therefore, +was; perfectly commonplace, but for that reason perhaps all the more +disappointing to the man who had made such an appeal to her. + +“What you say,” said she, “does not require any answer. It is as though +I should ask you to submit to imprisonment for an indefinite period, or +for life, for instance, for the sake of a friend. And you would not +think such a request very reasonable. What I require of you is, not idle +words, but liberty. When you ask me to believe you, you must first gain +my confidence by treating me with common justice. Or if you will not +release me, let me at least see my friends. That is not much. I have +only one friend--Miss Plympton.” + +“You appear to think more of this Miss Plympton than you do of your own +father,” said Wiggins, gloomily. + +“What I think of my father is of no consequence to you,” said Edith; +“but as to Miss Plympton, she took me as a dying gift from my dear +mamma, and has loved me with a mother's love ever since, and is the only +mother I have known since childhood. When you turned her away from my +gates you did an injury to both of us which makes all your protestations +of honesty useless. But she is not under your control, and you may be +sure that she will exert herself on my behalf. It seems to me that you +have not considered what the result will be if she comes back in the +name of the law.” + +“I have considered every thing,” said Wiggins. Then, after a pause, he +added, “So you love Miss Plympton very dearly?” + +“Very, very dearly!” + +“And her words would have great weight with you?” + +“Very great weight.' + +“If, now, she should tell you that you might put confidence in me, you +would feel more inclined to do so?” + +Edith hesitated at this; but the thought occurred to her of Miss +Plympton's detestation of Wiggins, and the utter impossibility of a +change of opinion on her part. + +“If Miss Plympton should put confidence in you,” said she, “I should +indeed feel my own opinions changed.” + +Upon this Wiggins sat meditating profoundly for a short time. + +“Suppose, now,” said he at length, “that you should receive a note from +Miss Plympton in which she should give you a more favorable opinion of +me, would you accept it from her?” + +“I certainly should be happy to get any thing of that kind from her,” + said Edith. + +“Well,” said Wiggins, “I had not intended to take any one into my +confidence, certainly not any stranger, and that stranger woman; but I +am so unable to tell you all, and at the same time I long so to have +your confidence, that I may possibly decide to see Miss Plympton myself. +If I do, rest assured her opinion of me will change. This will endanger +the success of my plan; but I must run the risk--yes, whatever it is; +for if this goes on, I must even give up the plan itself, and with it +all my hopes for myself--and for you.” + +These last words Wiggins spoke in a low voice, half to himself, and with +his eyes turned to the ground. Edith heard the words, but thought +nothing of the meaning of them. To her, every thing was done for effect, +nothing was sincere. If she did not understand the meaning of some of +his words, she did not trouble herself to try to, but dismissed them +from her thoughts as merely affectations. As to his allusion to Miss +Plympton, and his idea of visiting her, Edith did not for a moment +imagine that he meant it. She thought that this was of a piece with the +rest. + +With these last words Wiggins arose from his chair, and with a slight +bow to Edith, took his departure. The interview had been a singular one, +and the manner of entreaty which Wiggins had adopted toward her served +to perplex her still more. It was part of the system which he had +originated, by which she was never treated in any other way than with +the utmost apparent respect and consideration, but in reality guarded as +a prisoner with the most sleepless vigilance. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +A WONDERFUL ACTOR. + +A few more days passed, and Edith remained in the same state as before. +Occasionally she would walk up and down the terrace in front of the +house, but her dislike to being tracked and watched and followed +prevented her from going any distance. She saw that she could not hope +to escape by her unassisted efforts, and that her only hope lay in +assistance from the outside world. Miss Plympton, she felt sure, could +never forget her, and would do all that possibly could be done to effect +her release as soon as possible. But day after day passed, and still no +deliverer appeared. + +She saw nothing of Wiggins during those days, but Mrs. Dunbar attended +on her as usual. To her, however, Edith now paid no attention whatever. +In her opinion she was the associate of her jailer, and a willing +partner in the wrong that was being done to her. Under these +circumstances she could not show to her any of that gentle courtesy and +kindly consideration which her nature impelled her to exhibit to all +with whom she was brought in contact. On the contrary, she never even +looked at her; but often, when she was conscious that Mrs. Dunbar was +gazing upon her with that strange, wistful look that characterized her, +she refused to respond in any way. And so the time passed on, Edith in +a state of drear solitude, and waiting, and waiting. + +At length she received another visit from Wiggins. He came to her room +as before, and knocked in his usual style. He looked at her with his +usual solemn earnestness, and advanced toward her at once. + +“You will remember,” said he, “that when I was last here, a few days ago, +I said that I might possibly decide to see Miss Plympton myself. It was +solely for your sake; and to do so I have made a great sacrifice of +feeling and of judgment.” + +“Miss Plympton?” interrupted Edith, eagerly. “Have you seen Miss +Plympton?” + +“I have.” + +“Where? At Dalton? Is she at Dalton still?” + +“She is not.” + +Edith's countenance, which had flushed with hope, now fell at this. It +looked as though Miss Plympton had gone away too hastily. + +“Where did you see her?” she asked, in a low voice, trying to conceal +her agitation. + +“At Plympton Terrace,” said Wiggins. + +“Plympton Terrace,” repeated Edith, in a dull monotone, while her breast +heaved with irrepressible emotion. Her heart within her. This indeed +looked like a desertion of her on the part of her only friend. But +after a moment's despondency she rallied once more, as the thought came +to her that this was all a fiction, and that Wiggins had not seen her at +all. + +“Yes,” said Wiggins, “I have seen her, and had a long interview, in +which I explained many things, to her. It was all for your sake, for +had you not been concerned, I should never have thought of telling her +what I did. But I was anxious to get you to confide in me, and you said +that if Miss Plympton should put confidence in me, you yourself would +feel inclined to do so. It is because I want your confidence, your +trust--because I can't tell you all yet, and because without your trust +I am weak--that I have done this. Your misery breaks up all my plans, +and I wish to put an end to it. Now I have seen Miss Plympton at +Plympton Terrace, and she has written you a letter, which I have +brought.” + +With these words he drew from, his pocket a letter, and handed it to +Edith. With a flushed face and a rapidly throbbing heart Edith took the +letter. It seemed like that for which she had been so long waiting, but +at the same time there was a certain ill-defined apprehension on her +mind of disappointment. Had that letter come through any other channel, +it would have excited nothing but unmingled joy; but the channel was +suspicions, and Edith did not yet believe that he had really been to +Plympton Terrace. She suspected some new piece of acting, some new kind +of deceit or attempt to deceive, and the fact that she was still a +prisoner was enough to fortify all her obstinate disbelief in the +protestations of this man. + +But on the letter she saw her own name in the well-known and +unmistakable handwriting of Miss Plympton. She was quite familiar with +that writing, so much so that she could not be deceived. This letter, +then, was from her own hand, and as she read it she began to think that +after all Wiggins was true in his statement that he had seen her. Then, +seeing this, with deep agitation, and with a thousand conflicting +emotions, she tore it open. She read the following: + +“Plympton Terrace. + +“My darling Edith,--I can not tell you, my own sweet love, how I have +suffered from anxiety since I parted from you at the gates of Dalton +Hall. I went back, and received your dear note that night, which +consoled me. On the following day I looked for you, but you did not +come. Full of impatience, I went to the gate, but was not admitted, +though I tried every inducement to make the porter open to me. Turning +away, I determined to go at once in search of some such means by which I +could gain access to you, or free you from your position. After much +thought I went to visit Sir Lionel Dudleigh, who heard my story, and +promised to act at once on your behalf. He advised me to return to +Plympton Terrace, and wait here till he should take the necessary steps, +which I accordingly did. I have been here ever since, and I can truly +say, my darling, that you have not once been out of my thoughts, nor +have I till this day been free from anxiety about you. My worst fear +has been about your own endurance of this restraint; for, knowing your +impatient disposition, I have feared that you might fret yourself into +illness if you were not soon released from your unpleasant situation. + +“But, my dearest, this day has brought me a most wonderful and +unexpected deliverance from all my fear. This morning a caller came who +refused to send up his name. On going to the parlor I found a venerable +man, who introduced himself as Mr. Wiggins. I confess when I saw him I +was surprised, as I had imagined a very different kind of man. But you +know what a bitter prejudice I have always had against this man, and so +you may imagine how I received him. In a few words he explained his +errand, and stated that it was exclusively with reference to you. + +“And now, my own darling Edith, I come to that about which I scarce know +how to speak. Let me hasten to say that both you and I have totally +misunderstood Mr. Wiggins. Oh, Edith, how can I speak of him, or what +can I say? He has told me such a wonderful and such a piteous story! +It can not be told to you, for reasons which I respect, though I do not +approve altogether of them. I think it would be better to tell you all, +for then your situation would be far different, and he would not stand +in so fearfully false a position. But his reasons are all-powerful with +himself, and so I shall say nothing. But oh, my dearest, let me implore +you, let me entreat you, to give to this man your reverence and your +trust! Be patient, and wait. Perhaps he may overcome his high and +delicate scruples, and let you know what his purposes are. For my part, +my only grief now is that I have done something toward giving you that +fear and hate and distrust of him which now animate you. I entreat you +to dismiss all these feelings, and bear with your present lot till +brighter days come. The purpose of Mr. Wiggins is a high and holy one, +and this he will work out successfully, I hope and believe. Do not, +dearest, by your impatience give any additional pang to that noble +heart. Beware of what you say or do now, for fear lest hereafter it may +cause the deepest remorse. Spare him, for he has suffered much. The +name of your family, the memory of your injured father, are all at stake +now; and I pray you, dearest, to restrain yourself, and try to bear with +the present state of things. If you can only believe me or be influenced +by me, you will give him all your trust, and even your affection. But +if you can not do this at once, at least spare him any further pain. +Alas, how that noble heart has suffered! When I think of his mournful +story, I almost lose all faith in humanity, and would lose it altogether +were it not for the spectacle which is afforded by himself--a spectacle +of purest and loftiest virtue, and stainless honor, and endless +self-devotion. But I must say no more, for fear that I may say too +much, so I will stop. + +“Mamma unites with me in kindest love, and believe me, my dearest Edith, + +“Ever affectionately yours, + +“PAMELA PLYMPTON. + +“P.S.--I have not referred to that noblest of women, Mrs. Dunbar. Oh, +dearest Edith, I hope that ere this she has won your whole heart, and +that you have already divined something of that exalted spirit and that +meek self-sacrifice which make her life so sublime. I can say no more. +P. P.” + +Now it will be evident to the reader that if Miss Plympton had really +written the above, and had meant to incite Edith to give her +affectionate reverence to her two jailers, she could not have gone about +it in a worse way. Edith read it through, and at the beginning thought +that it might be authentic, but when she came to the latter half, that +idea began to depart. As she read on further and further, it appeared +more and more unlike Miss Plympton. The sudden transition from hate to +admiration, the extravagant terms that were made use of, the +exhortations to herself to change her feelings toward one like Wiggins, +the stilted phraseology, the incoherences, all seemed so unlike the +manner of Miss Plympton as to be only fit for derision. But the +postscript seemed worst of all. Here the writer had overdone herself, +or himself, and by dragging in the housekeeper, Mrs. Dunbar, and holding +her up for the same extravagant admiration, a climax of utter absurdity +had been attained. + +On reading this singular letter Edith's thoughts came quick and vehement +through her mind. If this letter were indeed the work of Miss Plympton, +then all hope for her interference was utterly gone. If Miss Plympton +wrote that, then she was evidently either mad, or else she had undergone +a change of mind so incomprehensible that it was equivalent to madness. +But Miss Plympton could never have written it. Of that she felt as sure +as she was of her own existence. + +If she did not, who did write it? The handwriting was exactly like that +of her revered friend. There was not the slightest difference between +this and that with which she was so familiar. It was her handwriting +indeed, but it was not Miss Plympton who spoke there. The hand was the +hand of Miss Plympton, but the voice was the voice of Wiggins. + +He had written all this, she felt sure. These allusions to his +sufferings, these hints about a plan, these references to her father, +these entreaties to her to give him her affection and trust--all these +were familiar. Wiggins had already made use of them all. It was, then, +the work of Wiggins beyond a doubt. + +And how? Could she doubt for a moment how? By imitating the writing of +Miss Plympton. Perhaps he had sent a messenger there, and obtained a +letter, part of which he had copied. The first half might have been +copied verbatim, while the last must certainly be his own work. As to +his power to imitate her writing, need she hesitate about that? Was not +her father condemned for a forgery which another had done! Had she not +already suspected that this false friend was no other than John Wiggins +himself? Forgery! that was only too easy for a man like him. And she +now saw in that letter an effort to accomplish her ruin by the same +weapon with which her father's had been wrought. + +All these thoughts rushed through her mind as she read and as she stood +looking over the pages and thinking about what had been done. All the +hate that she had ever felt for her father's betrayer, which had +increased when he had become her own oppressor, now glowed hot within +her heart and could not be repressed. + +[Illustration: “STEADYING HIMSELF, HE STOOD THERE TREMBLING.”] + +Meanwhile Wiggins had stood before her on the same spot where he had +stopped when he handed her the letter. He had stood there with his eyes +fixed upon her, and on his face an expression of solemn suspense--a +suspense so anxious that one might have supposed his whole life depended +upon Edith's decision. So he stood, rigid, mute, with all his soul +centring itself in that gaze which he fixed on her, in an attitude which +seemed almost that of a suppliant, for his reverend head was bowed, and +his aged form bent, and his thin hands folded over one another before +him. + +Such were the face and figure and look and attitude that Edith saw as +she raised her head. Had her anger been less fervid and her indignation +less intense, she would surely have been affected by that venerable +suppliant form; but as it was, there was no place for any softer +emotion. + +She rose from her chair, and as her white face showed itself opposite to +his, her eyes looked upon him, as once before, hard, stem, pitiless; but +this time their glance was even more cruel and implacable. She held out +the letter to him, and said, quietly, + +“Take it.” + +Wiggins looked at her, and spoke in a voice that was scarcely audible. + +“What--do--you--mean?” + +Carried beyond herself now by this attempt to prolong what seemed so +stupid and transparent a deceit, Edith spoke her whole mind plainly: + +“This is a close imitation of Miss Plympton's handwriting, but she could +never write such words--never! You have not visited her; you have not +seen her. This is a forgery. Once you were successful in forging, but +now you can not be. By that crime you once destroyed the father, but if +you destroy the daughter, you must--” + +But what Edith was going to say remained unsaid, for at this point she +was interrupted. + +Wiggins had listened to her with a stunned expression, as though not +able to comprehend her. But as the fullness of the meaning of her words +reached his ears he shuddered from head to foot. A low moan escaped him. +He started back, and regarded Edith with eyes that stared in utter +horror. + +“Stop! stop!” he cried, in a low, harsh voice. “No more, no more! This +is madness. Girl, you will some day weep tears of blood for this! You +will one day repent of this, and every word that you have spoken will +pierce your own heart as they now pierce mine. You are mad: you do not +know what you are saying. O Heavens! how mad you are in your ignorance! +And I need only utter one word to reduce you to despair. If I were dying +now I could say that which would give you life-long remorse, and make +you carry a broken heart to your grave!” + +He stopped abruptly, and staggered back, but caught at a chair, and, +steadying himself, stood there trembling, with his head bowed, and heavy +sighs escaping him. Soon hasty footsteps were heard, and Mrs. Dunbar +hurried into the room, with a frightened face, looking first at Edith +and then at Wiggins. She said not a word, however, but approaching +Wiggins, drew his arm in hers, and led him out of the room. + +Edith stood for some time looking after them. + +“What a wonderful actor he is!” she thought; “and Mrs. Dunbar was +waiting behind the scenes to appear when her turn should come. They went +out just like people on the stage.” + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +TWO CALLERS. + + +Time passed slowly with the prisoner, but the freedom for which she +longed seemed as distant as ever. Miss Plympton's apparent desertion of +her was the worst blow that she had yet received, and even if the letter +that Wiggins had shown her was a forgery, it still remained evident that +but little was to be hoped for now in that quarter. It seemed to her now +as if she was cut off from all the world. Her relatives were +indifferent; Sir Lionel Dudleigh was inaccessible; Miss Plympton +appeared to have given her up; the county families who, under ordinary +circumstances, might have tried to call on her, would probably view with +indifference if not prejudice, the daughter of a convict. All these +circumstances, therefore, reduced her to deep dejection, and made her +feel as though she was indeed at the mercy of her jailer. + +While thus conscious of her helplessness however, she did not fear any +thing worse than imprisonment. The idea had occurred to her of further +injury, but had been at once dismissed. She did not think it possible +that her life could be in danger. It seemed to her that Wiggins owed all +his power to the very fact of her life. He was her guardian, as he had +said, and if she were to die, he would be no more than any one else. The +nearest heirs would then come forward, and he would have to retire. +Those nearest heirs would undoubtedly be those relatives of whom Miss +Plympton had told her, or perhaps Sir Lionel Dudleigh, of whom she now +thought frequently, and who began to be her last hope. + +The fact that Wiggins was her guardian till her marriage showed her +plainly that he would endeavor to postpone any such a thing as marriage +for an indefinite period. In order to do this he would, no doubt, keep +her secluded as long as he could. He would feel it to be for his +interest that her health should be taken care of, for any sickness of +hers would necessarily alarm him. The thought of this made her wish for +illness, so that she might have a doctor, and thus find some one who was +not in his employ. But then, on the other hand, she feared that the +doctor whom he might send would be some one in his pay, or in his +confidence, like all the rest, and so her desire for illness faded out. + +At last a day came when the monotony of her life was interrupted. She +was looking out of her window when she was startled by the sound of a +carriage coming up the main avenue. The sound filled her with +excitement. It could not be Wiggins. It must be some one for her, some +friend--Miss Plympton herself. Her heart beat fast at the thought. Yes, +it must be Miss Plympton. She had not given her up. She had been +laboring for her deliverance, and now she was coming, armed with the +authority of the law, to effect her release. Edith's first impulse was +to hurry down and meet the carriage, but long and frequent +disappointment had taught her the need of restraint, and so she remained +at the window till the carriage came into view. + +Well was it for her that she had tried to repress her hopes, and had +forborne to rush down at her first impulse. One glance showed her that +the new-comers were strangers. It was a handsome barouche that she saw, +and in it were a lady and a gentleman, neither of whom she had seen +before. But even in the midst of her disappointment hope still found a +place, and the thought occurred to her that though these might not be +familiar to her, they yet might be friends, and might even have been +sent by Miss Plympton. But, if so, how came they here? Did they have +any trouble at the gate? How was it that Wiggins relaxed his +regulations in their favor? Could they be friends of his own, after all? +Yes, it must be so. + +Filled with thoughts like these, which thus alternated between hope and +fear, Edith watched the new-comers, as the carriage rolled up to the +Hall, with something of the same emotions that fill the shipwrecked +sailor as he watches the progress of a lifeboat that comes to save him. +Even now it was with difficulty that she prevented herself from rushing +down and meeting them, and imploring their help at once. But she +restrained her impatience with a great effort, and summing up all her +self-control, she waited. + +She heard the great bell resounding through the long halls; she heard +the footsteps of Mrs. Dunbar as she went down. Then there was a long +delay, after which Mrs. Dunbar returned and entered the room. She +appeared troubled, and there was on her face a larger share than usual +of that anxious, fearful watchfulness which made its wonted expression. +There was also something more--something that seemed like utter +consternation and bewilderment; she was as white as ashes; her hands +clutched one another convulsively; her eyes were fixed in an abstracted +gaze on vacancy; and when she spoke it was in a low voice like a +whisper, and in scarcely articulate words. + +“Some one--to see you.” + +That was all that Mrs. Dunbar said. + +“To see me!” repeated Edith, starting from her chair, and too excited to +notice Mrs. Dunbar's manner. Hope arose once more, eager and +unrestrained, and without stopping a moment to ask any thing about them, +or to make any preparations to see them, she hurried down, fearing lest +the smallest delay might be dangerous. + +On entering the room the visitors introduced themselves as Captain and +Mrs. Mowbray; but as the captain was young, and Mrs. Mowbray apparently +about fifty, they appeared to Edith to be mother and son. + +Mrs. Mowbray's features showed that in her youth she might have been +beautiful; yet there was an expression on them which was not attractive +to Edith, being a compound of primness and inanity, which made her look +like a superannuated fashion plate. She was elaborately dressed: a rich +robe of very thick silk, a frisette with showy curls, a bonnet with many +ornaments of ribbons and flowers, and a heavy Cashmere shawl--such was +her costume. Her eyes were undeniably fine, and a white veil covered her +face, which to Edith looked as though it was painted or powdered. + +The gentleman at first sight seemed like a remarkably handsome man. He +was tall and well formed; chestnut hair curled short over his wide brow; +square chin, whiskers of the intensely fashionable sort, and heavy +mustache. His eyes were gray, and his features were regular and finely +chiseled. + +In spite of Edith's longing for friends, there was something in the +appearance of these two which excited a feeling akin to aversion in her +mind; and this was more particularly the case with regard to Captain +Mowbray. As he looked at her there was a cold, hard light in his eyes +which gave her the idea of a cruel and pitiless nature; and there was a +kind of cynicism in his tone when he spoke which repelled her at once. +He had all the air of a roué, yet even roués have often a savor of jolly +recklessness about them, which conciliates. About this man, however, +there was nothing of this; there was nothing but cold, cynical +self-regard, and Edith saw in him one who might be as hateful as even +Wiggins, and far more to be dreaded. + +“I'm afraid,” said Mrs. Mowbray, “that we are intruders on your +seclusion; but we waited some time, and at last concluded to break in +upon you in spite of your rigid restrictions. But others have +anticipated us, I presume, and so perhaps you will pardon us.” + +“My seclusion is not my own choice,” said Edith, mournfully. “You are +the first whom I have seen.” + +“Then, my dear Miss Dalton, since we are not unwelcome, I feel very glad +that we have ventured. May I hope that we will see a great deal of one +another?” + +Mrs. Mowbray's manner of speaking was essentially in keeping with her +appearance. It may be called a fashion-plate style. It was both fluent +and insincere. She spoke in what is sometimes called a “made +voice”--that is to say, a voice not her own, made up for company--a +florid falsetto: a tone that Edith detested. + +Could she throw herself upon the sympathies of these? Who were they? +Might they not be in league with Wiggins for some purpose unknown to +her? It was curious that these strangers were able to pass the gates +which were shut to all the rest of the world. These were her thoughts, +and she determined to find out from these Mowbrays, if possible, how it +was that they got in. + +“Had you any difficulty at the gates with the porter?” asked Edith. + +“Oh no,” said Captain Mowbray, “not the least.” + +“Did he offer no resistance?” + +“Certainly not. Why should he?” + +“Because he has been in the habit of turning back all visitors.” + +“Ah,” said Mowbray, listlessly, “that is a thing you ought not to +allow.” + +“I was afraid,” said Edith, “that he had tried to keep you back.” + +“Me?” said Mowbray, with strong emphasis. “He knows better than that, I +fancy.” + +“And yet he is capable of any amount of insolence.” + +“Indeed?” said Mowbray, languidly. “Then why don't you turn him off, +and get a civil man?” + +“Because--because,” said Edith, in a tremulous voice, “there is one here +who--who countermands all my orders.” + +“Ah!” said Mowbray, in a listless tone, which seemed to say that he took +no interest whatever in these matters. + +“Dear me!” said Mrs. Mowbray, in a querulous voice. “Servants are such +dreadful plagues. Worry! why, it's nothing else but worry! And they're +so shockingly impertinent. They really have no sense of respect. I +don't know for my part what the world's coming to. I suppose it's all +these dreadful radicals and newspapers and working-men's clubs and +things. When I was young it was not so.” + +“You have not been in Dalton Hall since you were a young girl, Miss +Dalton?” said Mowbray, inquiringly. + +“No; not for ten years.” + +“Do you find it much changed?” + +“Very much--and for the worse. I have had great difficulties to contend +with.” + +“Indeed?” said Mowbray, indifferently. + +“Well, at any rate, you have a noble old place, with every thing around +you to make you enjoy life.” + +“Yes--all but one thing.” + +“Ah?” + +“I am a prisoner here, Captain Mowbray,” said Edith, with an appealing +glance and a mournful tone. + +“Ah, really?” said Mowbray; and taking up a book he began to turn over +the leaves in a careless way. + +“A prisoner?” put in Mrs. Mowbray. “Yes, and so you are. It's like +imprisonment, this dreadful mourning. But one has to act in accordance +with public sentiment. And I suppose you grieve very much, my dear, for +your poor dear papa. Poor man! I remember seeing him once in London. It +was my first season. There were Lord Rutland and the Marquis of Abercorn +and the young Duke of Severn--all the rage. Do you know, my dear, I was +quite a belle then.” + +From this beginning Mrs. Mowbray went on to chatter about the gayeties +of her youth--and Lord A, how handsome he was; and Sir John B, how rich +he was; and Colonel C, how extravagant he was. Then she wandered off to +the subject of state balls, described the dress she wore at her first +presentation at court, and the appearance of his Gracious Majesty King +George, and how he was dressed, and who were with him, and what he +said--while all the time poor Edith, who was longing for an opportunity +to tell them about herself, sat quivering with impatience and agitation. + +During all this time Captain Mowbray looked bored, and sat examining the +furniture and Edith alternately. He made no effort to take part in the +conversation, but seemed anxious to bring the visit to a close. This +Edith saw with a sinking heart. These, then, were the ones from whom she +had hoped assistance. But unpromising as these were, they formed just +now her only hope, and so, as they at length rose to go, Edith grew +desperate, and burst forth in a low but quick and excited tone. + +“Wait one moment,” said she, “and excuse me if I give you trouble; but +the position I am in forces me to appeal to you for help, though you are +only strangers. I am actually imprisoned in this place. A man +here--Wiggins, the late steward--confines me within these grounds, and +will not let me go out, nor will he allow any of my friends to come and +see me. He keeps me a prisoner under strict watch. Wherever I go about +the grounds I am followed. He will not even allow my friends to write to +me. I am the owner, but he is the master. Captain Mowbray, I appeal to +you. You are an officer and a gentleman. Save me from this cruel +imprisonment! I want nothing but liberty. I want to join my friends, +and gain my rights. I entreat you to help me, or if you can not help me +yourself, let others know, or send me a lawyer, or take a letter for me +to some friends.” + +And with these words poor Edith sank back into the chair from which she +had risen, and sobbed aloud. She had spoken in feverish, eager tones, +and her whole frame quivered with agitation. + +Mrs. Mowbray listened to her with a complacent smile, and when Edith +sank back in her chair she sat down too, and taking out her handkerchief +and a bottle of salts, began to apply the one to her eyes and the other +to her nose alternately. As for Captain Mowbray, he coolly resumed his +seat, yawned, and then sat quietly looking first at Edith and then at +Mrs. Mowbray. At length Edith by a violent effort regained her +self-control, and looking at the captain, she said, indignantly, + +“You say nothing, Sir. Am I to think that you refuse this request?” + +“By no means,” said Captain Mowbray, dryly. “Silence is said usually to +signify consent.” + +“You will help me, then, after all?” cried Edith, earnestly. + +“Wait a moment,” said Captain Mowbray, a little abruptly. “Who is this +man, Miss Dalton, of whom you complain?” + +“Wiggins.” + +“Wiggins?” said Mowbray. “Ah! was he not the steward of your late +father?” + +“Yes.” + +“I have heard somewhere that he was appointed your guardian. Is that +so?” + +“I don't know,” said Edith. “He claims to be my guardian; but I am of +age, and I don't see how he can be.” + +“The law of guardianship is very peculiar,” said Mowbray. “Perhaps he +has right on his side.” + +“Right!” cried Edith, warmly. “How can he have the right to restrict my +liberty, and make me a prisoner on my own estate. I am of age. The +estate is absolutely mine. He is only a servant. Have I no rights +whatever?” + +“I should say you had,” said Mowbray, languidly stroking his mustache. +“I should say you had, of course. But this guardian business is a +troublesome thing, and Wiggins, as your guardian, may have a certain +amount of power.” + +Edith turned away impatiently. + +“I hoped,” said she, “that the mere mention of my situation would be +enough to excite your sympathy. I see that I was mistaken, and am sorry +that I have troubled you.” + +“You are too hasty,” said Mowbray. “You see, I look at your position +merely from a legal point of view.” + +“A legal point!” exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray, who had now dried her eyes and +restored the handkerchief and the salts bottle to their proper places. +“A legal point! Ah, Miss Dalton, my son is great on legal points. He +is quite a lawyer. If he had embraced the law as a profession, which I +once thought of getting him to do, though that was when he was quite a +child, and something or other put it quite out of my head--if he had +embraced the law as a profession, my dear, he might have aspired to the +bench.” + +Edith rested her brow on her hand and bit her lips, reproaching herself +for having confided her troubles to these people. Wiggins himself was +more endurable. + +“Your case,” said Captain Mowbray, tapping his boot with his cane in a +careless manner, “is one which requires a very great amount of careful +consideration.” + +Edith said nothing. She had become hopeless. + +“If there is a will, and Wiggins has powers given him in the instrument, +he can give you a great deal of trouble without your being able to +prevent it.” + +This scene was becoming intolerable, and Edith could bear it no longer. + +“I want to make one final request,” said she, with difficulty +controlling the scorn and indignation which she felt. “It is this--will +you give me a seat in your carriage as far as the village inn?” + +“The village inn?” repeated Mowbray, and the he was silent for some +time. His mother looked at him inquiringly and curiously. + +“I have friends,” said Edith, “and I will go to them. All that I ask of +you is the drive of a few rods to the village inn. You can leave me +there, and I will never trouble you again.” + +“Well, really, Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, after another pause, in which +Edith suffered frightful suspense--“really, your request is a singular +one. I would do any thing for you--but this is different. You see, you +are a sort of ward, and to carry you away from the control of your +guardian might be a very dangerous offense.” + +“In fact, you are afraid, I see,” said Edith, bitterly. “Well, you need +say no more. I will trouble you no further.” + +Saying this, she rose and stood in all her stately beauty before +them--cold, haughty, and without a trace of emotion left. They were +struck by the change. Thus far she had appeared a timid, agitated, +frightened girl; they now saw in her something of that indomitable +spirit which had already baffled and perplexed her jailers. + +“We hope to see more of you,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “We shall call again +soon.” + +To this Edith made no reply, but saw them to the drawing-room door. Then +they descended the stairs and entered the carriage, and she heard them +drive off. Then she went up to her room, and sat looking out of the +window. + +“He is worse than Wiggins,” she muttered. “He is a gentleman, but a +villain--and a ruined one too--perhaps in the pay of Wiggins. Wiggins +sent him here.” + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +A PANIC AMONG THE JAILERS. + +The arrival of these visitors had produced an extraordinary effect upon +Mrs. Dunbar. So great was her agitation that she could scarcely +announce them to Edith. So great was it that, though she was Edith's +jailer, she did not dream of denying them the privilege of seeing her, +but summoned Edith at once, as though she was free mistress of the +house. + +After Edith had gone down the agitation of Mrs. Dunbar continued, and +grew even greater. She sank into a chair, and buried her face in her +hands. In that position she remained motionless for a long time, and was +at length aroused by the return of Edith from her interview with her +visitors. Upon her entrance Mrs. Dunbar started up suddenly, and with +downcast face left the room, without exciting any attention from Edith, +who was too much taken up with her own thoughts about her visitors to +notice any thing unusual about the appearance of her housekeeper. + +Leaving Edith's room, Mrs. Dunbar walked along the hall with slow and +uncertain step, and at length reached a room at the west end. The door +was closed. She knocked. A voice cried, “Come in,” and she entered. It +was a large room, and it looked out upon the grounds in front of the +house. A desk was in the middle, which was covered with papers. All +around were shelves filled with books. It seemed to be a mixture of +library and office. At the desk sat Wiggins, who looked up, as Mrs. +Dunbar entered, with his usual solemn face. + +Into this room Mrs. Dunbar entered without further ceremony, and after +walking a few paces found a chair, into which she sank with something +like a groan. Wiggins looked at her in silence, and regarding her with +that earnest glance which was usual with him. Mrs. Dunbar sat for a few +moments without saying a word, with her face buried in her hands, as it +had been in Edith's room; but at length she raised her head, and looked +at Wiggins. Her face was still deathly pale, her hands twitched the +folds of her dress convulsively, and her eyes had a glassy stare that +was almost terrible. It could be no common thing that had caused such +deep emotion in one who was usually so self-contained. + +At last she spoke. + +“I have seen him!” said she, in a low tone, which was hardly raised +above a whisper. + +Wiggins looked at her in silence for some time, and at length said, in a +low voice, + +“He is here, then?” + +“He is here,” said Mrs. Dunbar. “But have you seen him? Why did you not +tell me that he was here? The shock was terrible. You ought to have +told me.” + +Wiggins sighed. + +“I intended to do so,” said he; “but I did not know that he would come +so soon.” + +“When did you see him?” asked Mrs. Dunbar, abruptly. + +“Yesterday--only yesterday.” + +“You knew him at once, of course, from his extraordinary likeness to--to +the other one. I wish you had told me. Oh, how I wish you had told me! +The shock was terrible.” + +And saying this, Mrs. Dunbar gave a deep sigh that was like a groan. + +“The fact is,” said Wiggins, “I have been trying to conjecture how he +came here, and as I did not think he would come to the Hall--at least, +not just yet--I thought I would spare you. Forgive me if I have made a +mistake. I had no idea that he was coming to the Hall.” + +“How could he have come here?” said Mrs. Dunbar. “What possible thing +could have sent him?” + +“Well,” said Wiggins, “I can understand that easily enough. This Miss +Plympton you know, as I told you, threatened that she would go to see +Lionel. I forgot to ask her about that when I saw her, but it seems now +that she must have carried out her threat. She has undoubtedly gone to +see Lionel, and Lionel has sent his boy instead of coming himself. Had +he only come himself, all would have been well. That is the chief thing +that I hoped for. But he has not chosen to come, and so here is the son +instead of the father. It is unfortunate; it delays matters most +painfully; but we must bear it.” + +“Do you think Lionel can suspect?” asked Mrs. Dunbar, anxiously. + +“Suspect? Not he. I think that he objected to come himself for a very +good reason. He has good grounds for declining to revisit Dalton Hall. +He has sent his son to investigate, and how this enterprise will end +remains to be seen.” + +“I don't see how he managed to get into the place at all,” said Mrs. +Dunbar. “Wilkins is usually very particular.” + +“Well,” said Wiggins, “I can understand that only too well. +Unfortunately he recognized Wilkins. My porter is unknown here, but any +one from Lionel's place whose memory reaches back ten years will easily +know him--the desperate poacher and almost murderer, whose affair with +the gamekeeper of Dudleigh Manor cost him a sentence of transportation +for twenty years. His face is one that does not change much, and so he +was recognized at once. He came to me in a terrible way, frightened to +death for fear of a fresh arrest; but I calmed him. I went to the lodge +myself, and yesterday I saw _him_. I knew him at once, of course.” + +“But did he recognize you?” cried Mrs. Dunbar, in a voice full of fresh +agitation. + +“I fear so,” said Wiggins. + +At this Mrs. Dunbar started to her feet, and stared at Wiggins with a +face full of terror. Then gradually her strength failed, and she sank +back again, but her face still retained the same look. + +“He did not recognize me at first,” said Wiggins. “He seemed puzzled; +but as I talked with him, and heard his threats about Wilkins, and about +what he called Edith's imprisonment, he seemed gradually to find out +all, or to surmise it. It could not have been my face; it must have been +my voice, for that unfortunately has not changed, and he once knew that +well, in the old days when he was visiting here. At any rate, he made it +out, and from that moment tried to impress upon me that I was in his +power.” + +“And did you tell him--all?” + +“I--I told him nothing. I let him think what he chose. I was not going, +to break through my plans for his sake, nor for the sake of his foolish +threats. But in thus forbearing I had to tolerate him, and hence this +visit. He thinks that I am in his power. He does, not understand. But I +shall have to let him come here, or else make every thing known, and for +that I am not at all prepared as yet. But oh, if it had only been +Lionel!--if it had only been Lionel!” + +“And so,” said Mrs. Dunbar, after a long silence, “he knows all.” + +“He knows nothing,” said Wiggins. “It is his ignorance and my own +patient waiting that make him bold. But tell me this--did he recognize +you?” + +At this question Mrs. Dunbar looked with a fixed, rigid stare at +Wiggins. Her lips quivered. For a moment she could not speak. + +“He--he looked at me,” said she, in a faltering voice--“he looked at me, +but I was so overcome at the sight of him that my brain whirled. I was +scarcely conscious of any thing. I heard him ask for Edith, and I +hurried away. But oh, how hard--how hard it is! Oh, was ever any one in +such a situation? To see him here--to see that face and hear that voice! +Oh, what can I do--what can I do?” + +And with these words Mrs. Dunbar broke down. Once more her head sank, +and burying her face in her hands, she wept and sobbed convulsively. +Wiggins looked at her, and as he looked there came over his face an +expression of unutterable pity and sympathy, but he said not a word. As +he looked at her he leaned his head on his hand, and a low, deep, +prolonged sigh escaped him, that seemed to come from the depths of his +being. + +They sat in silence for a long time. Mrs. Dunbar was the first to break +that silence. She roused herself by a great effort, and said, + +“Have you any idea what his object may be in coming here, or what +Lionel's object may be in sending him?” + +“Well,” said Wiggins, “I don't know. I thought at first when I saw him +that Lionel had some idea of looking after the estate, to see if he +could get control of it in any way; but this call seems to show that +Edith enters into their design in some way. Perhaps he thinks of paying +attentions to her,” he added, in a tone of bitterness. + +“And would that be a thing to be dreaded?” asked Mrs. Dunbar, anxiously. + +“Most certainly,” said Wiggins. + +“Would you blame the son for the misdeeds of the father?” she asked, in +the same tone. + +“No,” said Wiggins; “but when the son is so evidently a counterpart of +the father, I should say that Edith ought to be preserved from him.” + +“I don't know,” said Mrs. Dunbar. “I'm afraid you judge too hastily. It +may be for the best. Who knows?” + +“It can only be for the worst,” said Wiggins, with solemn emphasis. + +“There is a woman with him,” said Mrs. Dunbar, suddenly changing the +conversation. “Who can she be?” + +“A woman? What kind of a woman?” + +“Elderly. I never saw her before. He calls himself Mowbray, and she is +Mrs. Mowbray. What can be the meaning of that? The woman seems old +enough to be his mother.” + +“Old?” said Wiggins. “Ah--Mowbray--h'm! It must be some design of his on +Edith. He brings this woman, so as to make a formal call. He will not +tell her who he is. I don't like the look of this, and, what is worse, I +don't know what to do. I could prohibit his visits, but that would be to +give up my plans, and I can not do that yet. I must run the risk. As for +Edith, she is mad. She is beyond my control. She drives me to despair.” + +“I do not see what danger there is for Edith in his visits,” said Mrs. +Dunbar, in a mournful voice. + +“Danger!” said Wiggins. “A man like that!” + +“You are judging him too hastily,” said Mrs. Dunbar. + +Wiggins looked at her in silence for a moment, and then said, + +“I hope I am, I'm sure, for your sake; but I'm afraid that I am right +and that you are wrong.” + +After some further conversation Mrs. Dunbar retired, carrying with her +in her face and in her heart that deep concern and that strong agitation +which had been excited by the visit of Mowbray. Edith, when she next saw +her, noticed this, and for a long time afterward wondered to herself why +it was that such a change had come over the housekeeper. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +ANOTHER VISIT + +About two weeks afterward the Mowbrays called again. Edith was a little +surprised at this, for she had not expected another visit; but on the +whole she felt glad, and could not help indulging in some vague hope +that this call would be for her good. + +“I am sorry,” said she to Mrs. Mowbray, “that I have not been able to +return your call. But I have already explained how I am imprisoned +here.” + +[Illustration: “IT WAS A CHILD.”] + +“Oh, my dear,” said Mrs. Mowbray, “pray don't speak of that. We feel for +you, I assure you. Nothing is more unpleasant than a bereavement. It +makes such a change in all one's life, you know. And then black does not +become some people; they persist in visiting, too; but then, do you +know, they really look to me like perfect frights. Not that you look +otherwise than well, dear Miss Dalton. In fact, I should think that in +any dress you would look perfectly charming; but that is because you are +a brunette. Some complexions are positively out of all keeping with +black. Have you ever noticed that? Oh yes, dear Miss Dalton,” continued +Mrs. Mowbray, after a short pause. “Brunettes are best in black--mark my +words, now; and blondes are never effective in that color. They do +better in bright colors. It is singular, isn't it? You, now, my dear, +may wear black with impunity; and since you are called on in the +mysterious dispensation of Providence to mourn, you ought at least to be +grateful that you are a brunette. If you were a blonde, I really do not +know what would ever become of you. Now, I am a blonde--but in spite of +that I have been called on to mourn. It--it was a child.” + +As Mrs. Mowbray said this she applied the handkerchief and +smelling-bottle for a few minutes. + +“A child!” said Edith, in wonder. + +“Yes, dear--a sweet son, aged twelve, leaving me to mourn over him. And +as I was saying, my mourning did not become my complexion at all. That +was what troubled me so. Really, a blonde ought never to lose +friends--it is so unbecoming. Positively, Providence ought to arrange +things differently.” + +“It would be indeed well if blondes or any other people could be saved +from sorrow,” said Edith. + +“It would be charming, would it not?” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Now, when my +child died, I mourned for him most deeply--indeed, as deep as that,” she +said, stretching out her hands so as to measure a space of about +eighteen inches--“most deeply: a border around the skirt of solid crape +half a yard wide; bonnet smothered in crape; and really and positively I +myself was literally all crape, I do believe; and with my light +complexion, what people could have thought, I'm sure I do not know.” + +“There is not much to choose between mother and son,” thought Edith. +“They are capable of any baseness, they are so heartless. There is no +hope here.” Yet in spite of such thoughts she did not shun them. Why +not? How could an honorable nature like hers associate with such +people? Between them and herself was a deep gulf, and no sympathy +between them was possible. The reason why she did not shun them lay +solely in her own loneliness. Any thing in the shape of a human being +was welcome rather than otherwise, and even people whom she despised +served to mitigate the gloom of her situation. They made the time pass +by, and that of itself was something. + +“I went into half-mourning as soon as I could,” continued Mrs. Mowbray; +“but even half-mourning was very disagreeable. You may depend upon it, +no shade of black ought ever to be brought near a blonde. Half-mourning +is quite as bad as deep mourning.” + +“You must have had very much to bear,” said Edith, absently. + +“I should think I had. I really could not go into society, except, of +course, to make calls, for that one _must_ do, and even then I felt +like a guy--for how absurd I must have looked with such an inharmonious +adjustment of colors! But you, my dear Miss Dalton, seem made by nature +to go in mourning.” + +“Yes,” said Edith, with a sigh which she could not suppress; “nature has +been lavish to me in that way--of late.” + +“You really ought always to mourn,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in a sprightly +tone. + +“I'm afraid I shall always have to, whether I wish it or not,” said +Edith, with another sigh. + +“You are such a remarkable brunette--quite an Italian; your complexion +is almost olive, and your hair is the blackest I ever saw. It is all +dark with you.” + +“Yes, it is indeed all dark with me,” said Edith, sadly. + +“The child that I lost,” said Mrs. Mowbray, after a pause, “was a very +nice child, but he was not at all like my son here. You often find great +differences in families. I suppose he resembled one side of the family, +and the captain the other.” + +“You have lived here for a good many years?” said Edith, abruptly +changing the conversation. + +“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Mowbray, “It's a very nice county--don't you think +so?” + +“I really have not had an opportunity of judging.” + +“No? Of course not; you are mourning. But when you are done mourning, +and go into society, you will find many very nice people. There are the +Congreves, the Wiltons, the Symbolts, and Lord Connomore, and the Earl +of Frontington, and a thousand delightful people whom one likes to +know.” + +“You do not belong to the county, do you?” + +“N--no; my family belongs to Berks,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “You don't know +any thing about Berks, I suppose? I'm a Fydill.” + +“A fiddle?” said Edith, somewhat bewildered, for Mrs. Mowbray pronounced +her family name in that way, and appeared to take great pride in it. + +“Yes,” said she, “a Fydill--one of the oldest families there. Every one +has heard of the Fydills of Berks. I suppose you have never been there, +and so have not had the opportunity of hearing about them.” + +“No,” said Edith; “I have passed most of my life at school.” + +“Of course. You are so deliciously young. And oh, Miss Dalton, what a +delightful thing it is to be young! One is so admired, and has so many +advantages! It is a sad, sad thing that one grows old so soon. I'm so +gray, I'm sure I look like eighty. But, after all, I'm not so very old. +There's Lady Poyntz, twice my age, who goes into society most +energetically; and old Miss De Frissure, who, by-the-way, is enormously +rich, actually rides on horseback, and she is old enough to be my +mother; and Mrs. Rannig, the rich widow--you must have heard about +her--positively does nothing but dance; and old Mrs. Scott, the +brewer's, wife, who has recently come here, whenever she gives balls for +her daughters, always dances more than any one. All these people are +very much older than I am; and so I say to myself, 'Helen, my dear, you +are quite a girl; why shouldn't you enjoy yourself?' And so I do enjoy +myself.” + +“I suppose, then, that you like dancing?” said Edith, who, in spite of +her sadness, found a mournful amusement in the idea of this woman +dancing. + +“I'm par-tic-u-lar-ly fond of dancing,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with strong +emphasis. “Only the young men are so rude! They fly about after young +chits of girls, and don't notice me. And so I don't often have an +opportunity, you know. But there is a German gentleman here--a baron, my +dear--and he is very polite. He sometimes asks me to dance, and I enjoy +it very much, only he is so short and fat and bald that I fear he looks +very ridiculous. But the young men, Miss Dalton, are very, very +neglectful.” + +“That is a pity,” said Edith. + +“Oh, they are so, I do assure you. Now that is the very thing that I +have tried to impress upon the captain. 'My dearest boy,' I have always +said, 'mind the ladies. That is the first and highest duty of a true +gentleman. Particularly those ladies who are mature. Don't confine your +attentions to giddy and thoughtless girls. There are many ladies at +every ball of estimable character, and sometimes even of considerable +wealth, who deserve your attentions far more than those poor young +creatures who have nothing more to recommend them than their childish +good looks.' And I trust my son has not failed to profit by my advice. +At balls he does not often seek out the young, but rather the old. +Indeed, so marked is his preference for married ladies that all the +younger ones notice it and resent it, so that they have formed really +quite an aversion to him; and now, whether he will or not, he has to +dance exclusively with the elder ones. Once he danced with me, and it +was a proud moment for me, I assure you.” + +“I should think so,” said Edith, with a look at Mowbray. “But still, is +it not strange that young ladies should refuse to dance with one who is +an officer and a gentleman?” + +During the whole of this conversation the captain had said nothing, but +had been sitting turning over the leaves of a book, and furtively +watching Edith's face and manner. When the conversation turned upon +him, however, his face flushed, and he looked angrily at Mrs. Mowbray. +At last, as Edith spoke, he started, and said: + +“See here, now! I don't think it's altogether the correct thing to make +remarks about a gentleman in his presence. I'm aware that ladies are +given to gossip, but they generally do it behind a fellow's back. I've +done nothing to deserve this just now.” + +“There was nothing offensive in my remark,” said Edith, quietly. + +“Oh,” said Mrs. Mowbray, “my son is very quick and very sensitive, and +very nice on a point of honor. He is the most punc-til-i-ous man you +ever saw;” and Mrs. Mowbray held up her hands, lost in amazement at the +conception which was in her mind of the punctiliousness of her son. +“But, my dear Miss Dalton,” she continued, “he is quick to forgive. He +don't bear malice.” + +“Haven't I said,” growled Mowbray, “that I don't like this! Talk of me +behind my back, if you choose. You can't imagine that it's particularly +pleasant for a fellow to sit here and listen to all that rot.” + +“But, my son,” said Mrs. Mowbray, fondly, “it's all love.” + +“Oh, bother your love!” muttered this affectionate son. + +“Well, then, you naughty, sensitive boy,” said Mrs. Mowbray, “I will +come here by myself, and tell dear Miss Dalton all about you behind your +back. I will tell her about some of your adventures in London, and she +will see what a naughty, wicked, rakish fellow you have been. He is +sadly like me, dear Miss Dalton--so sensitive, and so fond of society.” + +Edith gave a polite smile, but said nothing. + +Then the conversation lagged for a little while. At length Edith, full +of the idea that Wiggins had sent them for some purpose, and desirous of +finding out whether her suspicions were correct or not, said, in a +careless tone, + +“I suppose you know this Wiggins very well?” + +“Mr. Wiggins?” said Mrs. Mowbray, quickly. “Oh yes; my son and he often +meet, though for my part I know little or nothing about the man.” + +“Pooh!” cried Mowbray, interrupting her. “Miss Dalton, Mrs. Mowbray is +so talkative that she often says things that she does not mean, or, at +least, things that are liable to mislead others. I have met Wiggins, it +is true, but do not imagine that he is a friend of mine. On the +contrary, he has reason to hate me quite as much as he hates you. Your +idea of any connection between him and me, which I plainly see you hint +at, is altogether wrong, and you would not have even suspected this if +you knew me better.” + +“You came here so easily,” said Edith, “that I very naturally supposed +that you were on friendly terms.” + +“I come here easily,” said Mowbray, “not because he is my friend, but +because he is so afraid of me that he does not dare to keep me back.” + +“You understand, then,” said Edith, “that he keeps others back. If you +have such power over him, how is it that you can calmly stand by and see +him imprison a free-born and a high-born English lady?” + +“Oh,” muttered Mowbray, “I don't know any thing about that. He is your +guardian, and you are his ward, and the law is a curious thing that I do +not understand.” + +“Yet Mrs. Mowbray says that you are distinguished for your knowledge of +legal points,” said Edith. + +Mowbray made no reply, and in a few moments Mrs. Mowbray rose to go. + +“Positively,” said she, “my dear Miss Dalton, we must see more of one +another; and since your mourning confines you here, I must come often, +and I know very well that we shall all be great friends.” + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: “BECAUSE I BEAT HIM.”] + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +A STROKE FOR LIBERTY. + +The Mowbrays came occasionally, but no others ever managed to get +through the gates. Edith could not help feeling a sort of resentment +against these people, who thus were able to do what no others could do, +and came to her so easily whenever they wished. Still she did not think +it worth while to refuse to see them. They beguiled the monotony of her +life, and she still had a half hope that something might result from +their visits. Even if they were in the pay of Wiggins, as she believed, +they yet might feel inclined to assist her, from the hope of larger pay, +and she hoped that the occasion might arise in which she might be able +to hint at such a thing. As yet they met her on an equal footing, and in +spite of her contempt for them, she did not quite like the idea of +regularly offering them a bribe to assist her. Yet she thought that the +time might come when she could do so, and this thought sustained her. + +In her visits Mrs. Mowbray still prattled and chattered in her usual +manner about her usual themes. Dress, society, and the incivility of +young men seemed to be her favorite topics. The captain usually came +with her, and seemed desirous to do the agreeable to Edith, but either +from a natural lack of gallantry, or from the discouraging treatment +which he received from her, he was somewhat unsuccessful. + +About two months after his first call the captain came alone. He was on +horseback, and was accompanied by a magnificent Newfoundland dog, which +Edith had noticed once or twice before. On seeing Edith he showed more +animation than was usual with him, and evidently was endeavoring, to the +best of his power, to make himself agreeable. + +“I have come, Miss Dalton,” said he, after the usual greetings, “to see +if you would do me the honor of going out riding with me.” + +“Riding?” said Edith; “you are very kind, I am sure; but will you pardon +me if I first ask you where you propose to take me?” + +“Oh, about the park,” said Mowbray, somewhat meekly. + +“The park?” said Edith, in a tone of disappointment. “Is that all? Why, +Captain Mowbray, this park is only my jail yard, and to go about it can +not be very pleasant, to a prisoner, either on horseback or on foot. But +surely I do not understand you. I must be too hasty. Of course you mean +to do as every gentleman would do, and let the lady select the place +where she wishes to go?” + +“I assure you Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, “I should be most happy to do +so if I were able; but you are not allowed to go out of the park, you +know.” + +“Who prohibits me, pray?” + +“Wiggins.” + +“Wiggins! And why should you care for any of his regulations? Do you +not know who he is, and what he is, and in what position he stands +toward me?” + +“Oh, well,” said Mowbray, in a hesitating voice, “he is your guardian, +you know.” + +“But I am of age,” said Edith. “Guardians can not imprison their wards +as he imprisons me. I am of age. I own this place. It is mine. He may +have some right to attend to its business for the present, but he has no +right over me. The law protects me. You know that as well as I do.” + +“Yes, true; but--ah--you know--ah--you are really so very +_peculiarly_ situated, Miss Dalton, that I should not like to do +any thing which might compromise your--ah--position.” + +“Surely, Captain Mowbray, you must now be speaking without thinking. In +what way, pray, can it compromise my position to ride with you through +the village streets, rather than over the roads of the park?” + +“Well--ah--you are in mourning, you know.” + +“Really I do not see what that has to do with it. If I have the sorrow +of bereavement, that is no reason why I should have the additional +sorrow of imprisonment.” + +“Oh, you know, Wiggins would make a fuss about it, and put you to no end +of trouble.” + +Mowbray's unwillingness to help her, and hesitation, had once before +roused Edith's indignation; but now she believed him to be in Wiggins's +employ, and therefore felt calm, and talked with him chiefly for the +sake of seeing what she could get out of him, either in the way of +explanation or concession. + +“When you speak of trouble,” said she, “I think it is I who will give +trouble to him rather than undergo it from him.” + +“Oh, well--either way,” said Mowbray, “there would be trouble, and that +is what I wish to avoid.” + +“Gentlemen are not usually so timid about encountering trouble on behalf +of a lady,” said Edith, coldly. + +“Oh, well, you know, if it were ordinary trouble I wouldn't mind it, but +this is legal trouble. Why, before I knew where I was I might be +imprisoned, and how would I like that?” + +“Not very well, as I can testify,” said Edith. + +“Believe me, Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, with a desperate effort to +appear earnest and devoted, “there is nothing that I would not do for +you, and I feel exceedingly pained that you are not content with your +present position; but you see I do not want to put myself in the +clutches of the law if I can help it. Wiggins is an enemy of mine, as I +told you, and only tolerates me here because he dare not prevent +me--neither he nor his man; but--ah--you know--that is--I +mean--he--ah--he watches me very closely, you know, and if I were to do +any thing that he could lay hold of, he would be very glad to do so, and +put me to trouble and expense--no end.” + +Here Edith understood once more a profession of enmity against Wiggins, +but whether it was real or not she could not tell. She believed, +rather, that it was pretended. + +“Oh, I beg of you to make no more excuses,” said she. “Your +explanations are quite satisfactory.” + +“I have had trouble enough from lawyers,” continued Mowbray, “and don't +want to have any more.” + +“That is quite prudent in you, and careful.” + +“The first thing that a man of the world learns, Miss Dalton,” said the +captain, in a confidential tone, “is to take care of himself. That is a +lesson that I have learned by bitter experience, and I have resolved, +among other things, and above all, never, under any circumstances, to +put myself within the grasp of the lawyers; and if you only knew what +bother I've had, you wouldn't blame me.” + +“I fear that I must have given you great pain, then,” said Edith, “by +even hinting at such a thing as taking my part and helping me. You feel +so strongly about your personal safety that you must have been deeply +agitated at such a proposal from me.” + +“Oh, well,” said the captain, not choosing to notice the sarcasm of +Edith's tone, “one grows wiser from experience, you know, and mine has +been a bitter one. I would gladly open your gates for you, I assure you, +if I could do it without danger, and if Wiggins had no authority; but as +it is, I really do not see how I can possibly interfere.” + +“Well, for that matter,” said Edith, “if it were not for Wiggins, I +suppose I could open the gates for myself, and so I could save you even +that trouble.” + +Mowbray made no reply to this, but merely stroked his mustache. + +“After all,” said he at last, “I don't see why you should be so +discontented here. There are many who would be glad to live as you do, +in so magnificent a house, with such noble grounds. You have every thing +that you want. Why you should be so discontented I can not imagine. If +you did get out, and live in the village, you would not like it. It's +not a pleasant place. For my part I would much rather live where you do +than where I do. If you would confine your attention to this place, and +give up all ideas of getting away, you might be as happy as the day is +long.” + +Saying this, the captain looked at Edith to see the effect of his words. +Edith was looking at him with a very strange expression, something like +what may appear in the face of the naturalist at discovering an animal +of some new species--an expression of interest and surprise and +curiosity. + +“So those are your sentiments?” she said; and that was all. + +“Yes,” said the captain. + +“Well,” said Edith, “it may be my misfortune, but I think differently.” + +“At any rate,” said the captain, in a more animated tone, “since we can +not agree in this discussion, why not drop it? Will you not ride with me +about the park? I'm sure I like the park very well. I have not become so +tired of it as you have. I have a very nice lady's horse, which is quite +at your disposal.” + +At this request Edith was silent for a few moments. The man himself grew +more abhorrent to her, if possible, every moment; but her desire to find +out what his purposes were, and her hope of making use of him still, in +spite of present appearances, made her think that it might be best to +accept his offer. + +“Oh, well,” said she, “I have no objection, since you choose to subject +me to such limitations, and I suppose I must add that I thank you.” + +“Don't speak of thanks, Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray. “Let me say rather +that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” + +Two days after this Mowbray again called on Edith. This time, in +addition to his own horse, he brought another with a lady's saddle, and +was followed by the Newfoundland dog. Edith was soon dressed for the +ride, and joined Mowbray in the drawing-room. As they went out the dog +was sitting on the portico, and leaped forward joyfully at the sight of +his master, but suddenly retreated in fear. + +“It's all very well, Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, “for them to talk about +cruelty to animals, but the only way you can make them fond of you is by +fear. See how that dog loves me. And why? Because I beat him.” + +There was something in these words, and in the tone in which they were +spoken, that afforded Edith a new view of Mowbray's character. There +were a ferocity and a cruelty there which were quite in keeping with the +paltriness and meanness which he had already evinced. But Edith kept +silence. In a few moments they were mounted, and rode away side by +side. + +As they turned the corner of the Hall Edith saw a face among the +trees--white, solemn, watchful, stern--and the sight gave her a strange +shock, for it was the face of Wiggins. It seemed to her at that moment +that this man must hate Mowbray, for the glance which he gave was by no +means that of a friend or confederate. Mowbray might, therefore, have +spoken the truth when he said that Wiggins hated him, and if so, he +might now be dreading the presence of this unwelcome guest. This thought +was not unpleasant, for though Mowbray could not be a friend, she +thought it not a bad substitute that he was at least an enemy of +Wiggins. + +The consequence was that she really enjoyed the ride; and Mowbray, +seeing her in good spirits, thought that it arose from more favorable +inclinations toward himself, and exerted himself to please. They rode at +a rapid pace through the long avenues, under magnificent overarching +trees, and over fields and meadows. Mowbray was a fine horseman, and +Edith had been accustomed to riding from childhood, and liked nothing +better than to rush along at headlong speed. She felt exhilaration and +enthusiasm such as she had not known for a long time. As she looked at +Mowbray's splendid figure she could not help regretting that a man with +such rare physical advantages should have, after all, but a craven +spirit. Was it, then, she thought, altogether fear that prevented him +from assisting her to escape? The idea seemed absurd. There must be some +reason of a different kind. She felt certain that he was an unprincipled +villain, and that he had some designs of his own upon her. What they +were she could not imagine. If he wished to gain her hand, he had +certainly taken a singular way to make himself agreeable. He was cruel, +cynical, mean, and sordid, and took no pains to conceal this. He had +advised her to submit to imprisonment, and had refused to help her in +any way. What his designs could possibly be she could not conjecture. + +During the ride but little was said. Mowbray was not talkative at any +time, and on the present occasion he confined himself to remarks which +he intended to be amiable and agreeable. To these Edith made civil +replies. At last they rode back to the Hall, and Mowbray prepared to +dismount. + +“Are you going?” said Edith. “For my part I should rather not dismount +just yet. It is too dull in the house. I would rather ride a little +distance with you, and walk back.” + +At this Mowbray looked at her in silence, and with a perplexed +expression on his countenance. + +Edith calmly waited for him to start. + +“Miss Dalton,” said he at length, “I really do not know--” And then he +paused. + +“I beg your pardon,” said Edith. + +“You see,” said Mowbray, “I don't know about your riding any more.” + +“Why, surely,” said Edith, “you are not going to refuse your horse for a +few minutes longer?” + +Mowbray looked gloomily at her, and then started off. Edith rode by his +side, and they both kept silence until they reached the park gate. + +The porter came out, but on seeing Edith he stopped. + +“It's all right,” said Edith. “You see I am with Captain Mowbray.” + +Mowbray looked deeply perplexed, and as he said nothing, the porter +began to open the gate. + +“Stop,” said Mowbray. + +“What!” cried Edith. “Captain Mowbray, what do you mean?” + +“You must not go out,” said Mowbray. + +“I thought you were only going as far as the gate, and would walk back. +You must not try to follow me.” + +“Must not?” cried Edith, whom the hope of escape had roused to intense +excitement. “Do you say that to me?” + +“Yes,” said Mowbray. + +“What right have you?” said Edith, haughtily. And then turning to the +porter, she said, imperatively, “Open that gate at once.” + +But the obdurate porter did not obey her now any more than before. + +“Captain Mowbray,” said she, “order that man to open the gate.” + +“I will not,” said Mowbray, rudely. + +“Then I shall ride by your side till you go out.” + +“You shall not.” + +“Is that the way that a gentleman speaks to a lady?” + +“You won't get me into trouble, anyway.” + +“I don't intend to,” said Edith, scornfully. “It is my own act. You +will not take me out, but I go out of my own accord.” + +The porter meanwhile stood bewildered, with the gate only partly open, +holding it in this way, and waiting for the end of this singular scene. + +“Miss Dalton,” cried Mowbray, fiercely, “you will make me resort to +extreme measures.” + +“You dare not!” cried Edith, who by this time was fearfully excited. She +had a horse beneath her now. That horse seemed part of herself. In +that horse's strength and speed she lost her own weakness, and so she +was now resolved to stake every thing on one effort for liberty. + +“Don't force me to it,” said Mowbray, “or you will make me do something +that I shall be sorry for.” + +“You dare not!” cried Edith again. “Do you dare to threaten me--me, the +mistress of Dalton Hall?” + +“Catch hold of her reins, captain,” cried the porter, “and make her go +back.” + +“Hold your bloody tongue!” roared Mowbray.--“Miss Dalton, you must go +back.” + +“Never!” said Edith. “I will go out when you do.” + +“Then I will not go out at all. I will go back to the Hall.” + +“You shall not enter it,” said Edith, as firmly as though she possessed +the keys of Dalton Hall. + +“Miss Dalton, you force me to use violence.” + +[Illustration: IN HER FRENZY EDITH STRUCK THAT HAND AGAIN AND AGAIN.] + +“You dare not use violence,” said Edith, with a look that overawed the +craven soul of Mowbray. For Edith now was resolved to do any thing, +however desperate, and even the threat of violence, though she felt that +he was capable of it, did not deter her. The two faced one another in +silence for a few moments, the one strong, muscular, masculine, the +other slight, fragile, delicate; yet in that girlish form there was an +intrepid spirit which Mowbray recognized, defiant, haughty, tameless, +the spirit of all her fathers, strengthened and intensified by a +vehement desire for that liberty that lay outside the gates. + +“Well,” said the porter, “I'd better be a-shuttin' the gates till you +two settle yer business. She'll dash through if I don't. I see it in +her eye.” + +“No, she won't,” said Mowbray. “Don't shut the gates; wait a moment.” + Then turning to Edith, he said, + +“Miss Dalton, for the last time, I say go back, or you'll be sorry.” + Edith looked steadfastly and sternly at the captain, but said not one +word. The captain looked away. + +“Porter,” said he. + +“Sir.” + +“Hold her horse.” + +“But she'll rush through the gates. Shall I fasten them?” + +“No; I'll hold the reins till you get them. And, porter, I leave this +horse with Miss Dalton, since she won't dismount. You see that he's +well taken care of.” + +“Yes, Sir.” + +The captain, while speaking, had reached out his arm to take Edith's +reins, but she turned her horse's head, and he missed them. The porter +saw this movement, and sprang forward. Edith pulled the reins. Her +horse reared. Wild with excitement, and seeing the gates open before +her, and the road beyond, Edith struck at the porter with her whip over +his face, and then drove her horse at the open gates. The horse sprang +through like the wind. The porter shrieked after her. She was on the +road. She was free! + +No--not free! + +Not free, for after her there came the thundering tramp of another +horse. It was Mowbray in pursuit. + +His horse was far better than hers. He gained on her step by step. +Nearer and nearer he came. He was behind her; he was abreast of her +before she had ridden a quartet of a mile. The tower of the village +church was already in sight, when suddenly a strong hand was laid on her +reins. + +In her frenzy Edith struck that hand again and again with the heavy butt +of her riding-whip, but it did not loosen its grasp. Her horse stopped. + +“Curse you!” roared Mowbray to Edith, while his face was livid with +passion and pain, “I'll kill you!” and seizing her whip hand, he +wrenched the whip out of it. + +Edith was silent. + +Mowbray said no more. He turned her horse and led it back. Edith +looked around wildly. Suddenly, as they came near the gates, the +intolerable thought of her renewed imprisonment maddened her, and the +liberty which she had so nearly gained roused her to one more effort; +and so, with a start, she disengaged herself and leaped to the ground. +Mowbray saw it, and, with a terrible oath, in an instant leaped down and +gave chase. The horses ran forward and entered the gates. + +Edith held up her long skirts and ran toward the village. But again +Mowbray was too much for her. He overtook her, and seizing her by the +wrist, dragged her back. + +Edith shrieked for help at the top of her voice. Mowbray looked +fiercely around, and seeing no one, he took his handkerchief and bound +it tightly around her month. Then, overcome by despair, Edith's +strength gave way. She sank down. She made no more resistance. She +fainted. + +Mowbray raised her in his arms, and carried her into the porter's lodge. +The gates were then locked. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +A STRANGE CONFESSION. + +Edith came to herself in the porter's lodge. Her re-awakened eyes, in +looking up confusedly, saw the hateful face of Mowbray bending over her. +At once she realized the horror of her position, and all the incidents +of her late adventure came vividly before her mind. Starting up as +quickly as her feeble limbs would allow, she indignantly motioned him +away. + +Mowbray, without a word, stepped back and looked down. + +Edith staggered to her feet. + +“Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, in a low voice, “your carriage has been +sent for. It is here, and will take you to the Hall.” + +Edith made no reply, but looked absently toward the door. + +“Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, coming a little nearer, “I implore you to +hear me. I would kneel at your feet if you would let me. But you are +so imbittered against me now that it would be useless. Miss Dalton, it +was not hate that made me raise my hand against you. Miss Dalton, I +swear that you are more dear to me than life itself. A few moments ago +I was mad, and did not know what I was doing. I did not want you to go +away from this place, for I saw that you would be lost to me forever. I +saw that you hated me, and that if you went away just then I should lose +you. And I was almost out of my senses. I had no time to think of any +thing but the bitter loss that was before me, and as you fled I seized +you, not in anger, but in excitement and fear, just as I would have +seized you if you had been drowning.” + +“Captain Mowbray,” said Edith, sternly, “the violence you have offered +me is enough to satisfy even you, without such insult as this.” + +“Will you not even listen to me?” + +“Listen!” exclaimed Edith, in an indescribable tone. + +“Then I must be heard. I love you. I--” + +“Love!” interrupted Edith, in a tone of unutterable contempt. + +“Yes, love,” repeated Mowbray, vehemently, “from the first time that I +saw you, when you implored my help.” + +“And why did you not give me your help?” asked Edith, looking at him in +cold and haughty indignation. + +“I will tell you,” said Mowbray. “Before I saw you I knew how you were +situated. Wiggins would have kept me away, but dared not. I know that +about him which makes me his master. When I saw you, I loved you with +all my soul. When you appealed to me, I would have responded at once, +but could not. The fact is, Mrs. Mowbray was present. Mrs. Mowbray is +not what she appears to be. Before her I had to pretend an indifference +that I did not feel. In short, I had to make myself appear a base +coward. In fact, I had to be on my guard, so as not to excite her +suspicions of my feelings. Afterward, when I might have redeemed my +character in your eyes, I did not know how to begin. Then, too, I was +afraid to help you to escape, for I saw that you hated me, and my only +hope was to keep you here till you might know me better.” + +“Captain Mowbray,” said Edith, “if you are a captain, which I doubt, +such explanations as these are paltry. After what you have done, the +only thing left is silence.” + +“Oh, Miss Dalton, will nothing lead you to listen to me? I would lay +down my life, to serve you.” + +“You still wish to serve me; then?” asked Edith. + +“Most fervently,” cried Mowbray. + +“Then open that gate,” said Edith. + +Mowbray hesitated. + +“Open that gate,” said Edith, “and prove your sincerity. Open it, and +efface these marks,” she cried, as she indignantly held up her right +hand, and showed her wrist, all black from the fierce grasp in which +Mowbray had seized it. “Open it, and I promise you I will listen +patiently to all that you may have to say.” + +“Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, “if I opened that gate I should never see +you again.” + +“You will never see me again if you do +not.” + +“At least I shall be near you.” + +“Near me? Yes, and hated and despised. I will call on Wiggins himself to +help me. He was right; he said the time would come when I would be +willing to trust him.” + +“Trust him? What, that man? You don't know what he is.” + +“And what are you, Captain Mowbray?” + +“I? I am a gentleman.” + +“Oh no,” said Edith, quietly, “not that--any thing rather than that.” + +At this Mowbray's face flushed crimson, but with a violent effort he +repressed his passion. + +“Miss Dalton,” said he, “it is a thing that you might understand. The +fear of losing you made me desperate. I saw in your flight the loss of +all my hopes.” + +“And where are those hopes now?” + +“Well, at any rate, I have not altogether lost you. Let me hope that I +may have an opportunity to explain hereafter, and to retrieve my +character. Miss Dalton, a woman will sometimes forgive offenses even +against herself, when she knows that they are prompted by love.” + +“You seem to me,” said Edith, “to seek the affections of women as you do +those of dogs--by beating them soundly.” + +The sight of Mowbray's dog, who was in the room, reminded Edith of the +master's maxim which he had uttered before this memorable ride. + +“Miss Dalton, you do me such wrong that you crush me. Can you not have +some mercy?” + +“Open the gate,” said Edith. “Do that one thing, and then you may make +all the explanations you wish. I will listen to anything and everything. +Open the gate, and I will promise to forgive, and even to forget, the +unparalleled outrage that I have suffered.” + +“But you will leave me forever.” + +“Open that gate, Captain Mowbray. Prove yourself to be what you say--do +something to atone for your base conduct--and then you will have claims +on my gratitude which I shall always acknowledge.” + +Mowbray shook his head. + +“Can I let you go?” he said. “Do you ask it of me?” + +“No,” said Edith, impatiently, “I don't ask it. I neither hope nor ask +for any thing from you. Wiggins himself is more promising. At any rate, +he has not as yet used absolute violence, and, what is better, he does +not intrude his society where it is not wanted.” + +“Then I have no hope,” said Mowbray, in what was intended to be a +plaintive tone. + +“I'm sure I don't know,” said Edith, “but I know this--that the time +will surely come, after all, when I shall get my freedom, and then, +Captain Mowbray, you will rue the day when you dared to lay hands on me. +Yes, I could get my freedom now, I suppose, if I were to parley with +Wiggins, to bribe him heavily enough; and I assure you I am tempted now +to give up the half of my estate, so as to get free and have you +punished.” + +Mowbray turned pale. + +“There were no witnesses,” said he, hastily. + +“You forget that the porter saw it all. But this is useless,” she added; +and passing by Mowbray, she went to the door. Outside was a carriage, +which the porter had brought down from the Hall, into which she got, and +then drove away, while Mowbray stood looking at her till she drove out +of sight. + +The effects of this adventure were felt for some time. Excitement, +fatigue, pain, and grief, all affected Edith, so that she could not +leave her room for weeks. Mrs. Dunbar was assiduous in her attentions, +and Edith supposed that both she and Wiggins knew all about it, as the +porter would undoubtedly have informed them; but her communications with +her were limited only to a few words, and she regarded her with nothing +but distrust. In Mrs. Dunbar's manner, also, she saw something which +indicated a fresh trouble, something which had been manifested by her +ever since Mowbray's first appearance, and which Edith now suspected to +be the result of Mowbray's violence. This led to vain speculations on +her part which he had uttered before this memorable as to the mysterious +connection that existed between her jailers. Mowbray professed to be +the enemy and the master of Wiggins. Her remembrance of Wiggins's look +of hate made her think that this was true. But Mrs. Dunbar she did not +believe to be an enemy of Mowbray's; and the porter, who was the +incorruptible servant of Wiggins, seemed equally devoted to Mowbray. + +She recalled also Mowbray's words to herself in explanation of his own +course. He had asserted that he had the power over Wiggins from some +knowledge which he possessed, and also that Mrs. Mowbray was not what +she appeared to be. He had spoken as though he was afraid of Mrs. +Mowbray's finding out what he called his love for Edith. Was she his +mother, then, at all? What did it all mean? For Edith, at any rate, it +was not possible to understand it, and the character, motives, and +mutual relationship of all those with whom she had come in contact +remained an impenetrable mystery. + +To the surprise of Edith, the Mowbrays called several times to make +inquiries about her, and after her recovery they still visited her. At +first she refused to see them, but one day Mrs. Mowbray came alone, and +Edith determined to see her, and get rid of her effectually. + +Mrs. Mowbray rose as she entered, and advancing to greet her, held out +her hand with a cordial smile. Edith did not take it, yet Mrs. Mowbray +took no offense, but, on the contrary, met her in the most effusive +manner. + +“Oh, my dear Miss Dalton,” said she, “what an age it has been since we +met! It seems like years! And when I wanted to see you so +par--tic--u--lar-ly! And are you quite well? Have you quite recovered? +Are you sure? How glad I am!” + +“Mrs. Mowbray,” said Edith, as soon as she could make herself heard, “I +have sent word to you several times that I do not wish to see you again. +You know the reason why as well as I do. I can only say that I am +surprised at this persistence, and shall in future be under the +necessity of shutting my doors against you.” + +Thus Edith, in spite of her severe afflictions, could still speak of the +place as hers, and under her orders. + +“Oh, my dear Miss Dalton,” burst forth Mrs. Mowbray, “that is the very +reason why I have so in--sist--ed on seeing you. To explain, you +know--for there is nothing like an explanation.” + +“You may spare yourself the trouble,” said Edith. “I do not want any +more explanations.” + +“Oh, but you positively must, you know,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in her most +airy manner. + +“Pardon me. I wish to hear nothing whatever about it.” + +“It's that sad, sad boy,” said Mrs. Mowbray, coolly ignoring Edith's +words, “and deeply has he repented. But do you know, dear, it was only +his fondness for you. Pos--i--tive--ly nothing else, dear, but his +fondness for you. Oh, how he has talked about it! He says he is willing +to give up his right eye, or hand--I really forget which--to recall the +past. My poor dear boy is very impetuous.” + +“Mrs. Mowbray, I do not wish to be unkind or rude, but you really force +me to it.” + +“He's impetuous,” said Mrs. Mowbray, without noticing Edith, “but he's +warm-hearted. He's a most affectionate son, and he is so affectionate +toward you. It's all his fondness for you.” + +“Mrs. Mowbray, this is intolerable.” + +“Oh, Miss Dalton, you don't know--you really don't know. He has loved +you ever since he first saw you--and so true! Why, he dotes on you. He +was afraid that he would lose you. You know, that was the reason, why he +interfered. But he says now most distinctly that he thinks his +interference was quite un--war--rant--a--ble--quite, I assure you; my +dear Miss Dalton.” + +Edith sat looking at this insolent woman with a clouded brow, not +knowing whether to order her out of the house or not. But Mrs. Mowbray +seemed beautifully unconscious of any offense. + +“The only thing that he has been talking about ever since it happened,” + she continued, “is his sorrow. Oh, his sorrow! And it is deep, Miss +Dalton. I never saw such deep sorrow. He really swears about it in a +shocking manner; and that with him is a sign that his feelings are +concerned very strongly. He always swears whenever he is deeply moved.” + +Edith at this started to her feet with a look in her eyes which showed +Mrs. Mowbray that she would not be trifled with any longer. + +“Mrs. Mowbray,” said she, “I came down for the sole purpose of telling +you that in future I shall dispense with the pleasure of your calls.” + +Mrs. Mowbray rose from her chair. + +“What!” she exclaimed, with a gesture of consternation; “and live in +complete seclusion? Not receive calls? No, no; you really must not think +of such a thing. We are your friends, you know, and you must not deny us +an occasional sight of you. My poor boy will positively die if he +doesn't see you. He's pining now. And it's all for you. All.” + +“Mrs. Mowbray,” said Edith, in a severe tone, “I do not know whether you +give offense intentionally or not. You seem unable to take a hint, +however strongly expressed, and you force me to speak plainly, although +I dislike to do so. You must not, and you shall not, come here any +more.” + +“Oh, my dear Miss Dalton, you really are quite excited,” said Mrs. +Mowbray, with a pleasant smile. + +“I mean what I say,” said Edith, coldly. “You are not--to come here +again.” + +Mrs. Mowbray laughed lightly. + +“Oh, you really can't keep us away. We positively must come. My son +insists. These lovers, you know, dear, are so pertinacious. Well,” she +added, looking hastily at Edith, “I suppose I must say good--morning; +but, Miss Dalton, think of my boy. Good--morning, my dear Miss Dalton.” + +And so Mrs. Mowbray retired. + +She called again four times, twice alone, and twice in company with the +captain, but Edith refused to see her. Yet, after all, in spite of her +scorn for these people, and her conviction that they were in league with +Wiggins--in spite of the captain's brutality--it was not without sorrow +that Edith dismissed Mrs. Mowbray; for she looked upon her as a kind of +tie that bound her to the outer world, and until the last she had hoped +that some means might arise through these, if not of escape, at least of +communication with friends. + +But she was cut off from these now more than ever; and what remained? + +What? A prison-house! + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +A NEW-COMER. + +It seemed now to Edith that her isolation was complete. She found +herself in a position which she had thought impossible in free +England--a prisoner in the hands of an adventurer, who usurped an +authority over her to which he had no right. His claim to exercise this +authority in his office of guardian she did not admit for a moment. +She, the mistress of Dalton Hall, was nothing more than a captive on her +own estates. + +She did not know how this could end or when it could end. Her hopes had +one by one given way. The greatest blow of all was that which had been +administered through the so-called letter of Miss Plympton. That letter +she believed to be a forgery, yet the undeniable fact remained that Miss +Plympton had done nothing. That Miss Plympton should write that letter, +however, and that she should leave her helpless at the mercy of Wiggins, +seemed equally improbable, and Edith, in her vain effort to comprehend +it, could only conclude that some accident had happened to her dear +friend; that she was ill, or worse. And if this was so, it would be to +her the worst blow of all. + +Other hopes which she had formed had also been doomed to destruction. +She had expected something from the spontaneous sympathy of the outside +world; who, whatever their opinion about her father, would stir +themselves to prevent such an outrage upon justice as that which Wiggins +was perpetrating. But these hopes gradually died out. That world, she +thought, was perhaps ignorant not only of her situation, but even of her +very existence. The last hopes that she had formed had been in the +Mowbrays, and these had gone the way of all the others. + +Nothing appeared before her in the way of hope, and her despondency was +often hard to endure. Still her strong spirit and high-toned nature +rendered it impossible for her to be miserable always. Added to this was +her perfect health, which, with one interruption, had sustained her +amidst the distresses of her situation. By her very disposition she was +forced to hope for the best. It must not be supposed that she was at +all like “Mariana in the moated grange.” She did not pine away. On the +contrary, she often felt a kind of triumph in the thought that she had +thus far shown the spirit of a Dalton. + +There was an old legend in the Dalton family upon which great stress had +been laid for many generations, and this one stood out prominently among +all the stories of ancestral exploits which she had heard in her +childhood. One of the first Daltons, whose grim figure looked down upon +her now in the armor of a Crusader, had taken part in the great +expedition under Richard Coeur de Lion. It happened that he had the ill +luck to fall into the hands of the infidel, but as there were a number +of other prisoners, there was some confusion, and early one morning he +managed to seize a horse and escape. Soon he was pursued. He dashed over +a wide plain toward some hills that arose in the distance, where he +managed to elude his pursuers for a time, until he found refuge upon a +cliff, where there was a small place which afforded room for one or two. +After some search his pursuers discovered him, and ordered him to come +down. He refused. They then began an attack, shooting arrows from a +distance, and trying to scale the cliff. But Dalton's defense was so +vigorous that by the end of that day's fight he had killed eight of his +assailants. Then the contest continued. For two days, under a burning +sun, without food or drink, the stern old Crusader defended himself. +When summoned to surrender he had only one word, and that was, “Never!” + It happened that a band of Crusaders who were scouring the country +caught sight of the Saracens, and made an attack upon them, putting them +to flight. They then sought for the object of this extraordinary siege, +and, climbing up, they saw a sight which thrilled them as they gazed. +For there lay stout old Michael Dalton, with many wounds, holding a +broken sword, and looking at them with delirious eyes. He recognized no +one, but tried to defend himself against his own friends. It was with +difficulty that they restrained him. They could not remove him, nor was +it necessary, for death was near; but till the last his hand clutched +the broken sword, and the only word he said was, “Never!” The Crusaders +waited till he was dead, and then took his remains to the camp. The +story of his defense, which was gathered from their prisoners, rang +through the whole camp, and always afterward the crest of the Daltons +was a bloody hand holding a broken sword, with the motto, “Never!” + +And so Edith took to her heart this story and this motto, and whenever +she looked at the grim old Crusader, she clinched her own little hand +and said, “Never!” + +She determined to use what liberty she had; and since Wiggins watched +all her movements, to show him how unconcerned she was, she began to go +about the grounds, to take long walks in all directions, and whenever +she returned to the house, to play for hours upon the piano. Her +determination to keep up her courage had the effect of keeping down her +despondency, and her vigorous exercise was an unmixed benefit, so that +there was a radiant beauty in her face, and a haughty dignity that made +her look like the absolute mistress of the place. + +What Wiggins felt or thought she did not know. He never came across her +path by any chance. Occasional glimpses of the ever-watchful Hugo showed +her that she was tracked with as jealous a vigilance as ever. She hoped, +however, that by her incessant activity something might result to her +advantage. + +One day while she was strolling down the grand avenue she saw a stranger +walking up, and saw, to her surprise, that he was a gentleman. The face +was altogether unknown to her, and, full of hope, she waited for him to +come up. + +“Have I the honor of addressing Miss Dalton?” said the stranger, as he +reached her. He spoke in a very pleasant but somewhat effeminate voice, +lifting his hat, and bowing with profound courtesy. + +“I am Miss Dalton,” said Edith, wondering who the stranger might be. + +He was quite a small, slight man, evidently young; his cheeks were +beardless; he had a thick dark mustache; and his small hands and feet +gave to Edith the idea of a delicate, fastidious sort of a man, which +was heightened by his very neat and careful dress. On the whole, +however, he seemed to be a gentleman, and his deep courtesy was grateful +in the extreme to one who had known so much rudeness from others. + +His complexion was quite dark, his eyes were very brilliant and +expressive, and his appearance was decidedly effeminate. Edith felt a +half contempt for him, but in a moment she reflected how appearances may +mislead, for was not the magnificent Mowbray a villain and a coward? + +“Allow me, Miss Dalton,” said he, “to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant +Dudleigh, of ---- ----.” + +“Dudleigh!” cried Edith, in great excitement. “Are you any relation to +Sir Lionel?” + +“Well, not very close. I belong to the same family, it is true; but Sir +Lionel is more to me than a relation. He is my best friend and +benefactor.” + +“And do you know any thing about him?” cried Edith, in irrepressible +eagerness. “Can you tell me any thing?” + +“Oh yes,” said Dudleigh, with a smile. “I certainly ought to be able to +do that. I suppose I know as much about him as any one. But what is the +meaning of all this that I find here,” he continued, suddenly changing +the conversation--“that ruffian of a porter--the gates boarded up and +barred so jealously? It seems to me as if your friends should bring +pistols whenever they come to make a call.” + +Dudleigh had a gay, open, careless tone. His voice was round and full, +yet still it was effeminate. In spite of this, however, Edith was, on +the whole, pleased with him. The remote relationship which he professed +to bear to Sir Lionel, his claim that Sir Lionel was his friend, and the +name that he gave himself, all made him seem to Edith like a true +friend. Of Sir Lionel and his family she knew nothing whatever; she knew +not whether he had ever had any children or not; nor did she ever know +his disposition; but she had always accustomed herself to think of him +as her only relative, and her last resort, so that this man's +acquaintance with him made him doubly welcome. + +“What you mention,” said she, in answer to his last remark, “is a thing +over which I have not the smallest control. There is a man here who has +contrived to place me in so painful a position that I am a prisoner in +my own grounds.” + +“A prisoner!” said Dudleigh, in a tone of the deepest surprise. “I do +not understand you.” + +“He keeps the gates locked,” said Edith, “refuses to let me out, and +watches every thing that I do.” + +“What do you mean? I really can not understand you. No one has any right +to do that. How does he dare to do it? He couldn't treat you worse if he +were your husband.” + +“Well, he pretends that he is my guardian, and declares that he has the +same right over me as if he were my father.” + +“But, Miss Dalton, what nonsense this is! You can not be in +earnest--and yet you must be.” + +“In earnest!” repeated Edith, with vehemence. “Oh, Lieutenant Dudleigh, +this is the sorrow of my life--so much so that I throw myself upon the +sympathy of a perfect stranger. I am desperate, and ready to do any +thing to escape--” + +“Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh, solemnly, “your wrongs must be great +indeed if this is so. Your guardian! But what then? Does that give him +the right to be your jailer?” + +“He takes the right.” + +“Who is this man?” + +“His name is Wiggins.” + +“Wiggins? Wiggins? Why, it must be the steward. Wiggins? Why, I saw him +yesterday. Wiggins? What! That scoundrel? that blackleg? that villain +who was horsewhipped at Epsom? Why, the man is almost an outlaw. It +seemed to me incredible when I heard he was steward here; but when you +tell me that he is your guardian it really is too much. It must be some +scoundrelly trick of his--some forgery of documents.” + +“So I believe,” said Edith, “and so I told him to his own face. But how +did you get in here? Wiggins never allows any one to come here but his +own friends.” + +“Well,” said Dudleigh, “I did have a little difficulty, but not much--it +was rather of a preliminary character. The fact is, I came here more +than a week ago on a kind of tour. I heard of Dalton Hall, and +understood enough of Sir Lionel's affairs to know that you were his +niece; and as there had been an old difficulty, I thought I couldn't do +better than call and see what sort of a person you were, so as to judge +whether a reconciliation might not be brought about. I came here three +days ago, and that beggar of a porter wouldn't let me in. The next day I +came back, and found Wiggins, and had some talk with him. He said +something or other about your grief and seclusion and so forth; but I +knew the scoundrel was lying, so I just said to him, 'See here now, +Wiggins, I know you of old, and there is one little affair of yours that +I know all about--you understand what I mean. You think you are all safe +here; but there are some people who could put you to no end of trouble +if they chose. I'm going in through those gates, and you must open +them.' That's what I told him, and when I came to-day the gates were +opened for me. But do you really mean to say that this villain prevents +your going out?” + +“Yes,” said Edith, mournfully. + +“Surely you have not tried. You should assert your rights. But I suppose +your timidity would naturally prevent you.” + +“It is not timidity that prevents me. I have been desperate enough to do +any thing. I have tried. Indeed, I don't know what more I could +possibly do than what I have done.” She paused. She was not going to +tell every thing to a stranger. + +“Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh, fervently, “I can not express my joy at +the happy accident that has brought me here. For it was only by chance +that I came to Dalton, though after I came I naturally thought of you, +as I said, and came here.” + +“I fear,” said Edith, “that it may seem strange to you for me to take +you into my confidence, after we have only interchanged a few words. But +I must do so. I have no alternative. I am desperate. I am the Dalton of +Dalton Hall, and I find myself in the power of a base adventurer. He +imprisons me. He sets spies to watch over me. He directs that ruffian at +the gates to turn away my friends, and tell them some story about my +grief and seclusion. I have not seen any visitors since I came.” + +“Is it possible!” + +“Well, there was one family--the Mowbrays, of whom I need say nothing.” + +“The Mowbrays?” said Dudleigh, with a strange glance. + +“Do you know any thing about them?” asked Edith. + +“Pardon me, Miss Dalton; I prefer to say nothing about them.” + +“By all means, I prefer to say nothing about them myself.” + +“But, Miss Dalton, I feel confounded and bewildered. I can not +understand you even yet. Do you really mean to say that you, the +mistress of these estates, the heiress, the lady of Dalton Hall--that +_you_ are restricted in this way and by _him_?” + +“It is all most painfully true,” said Edith. “It almost breaks my heart +to think of such a humiliation, but it is true. I have been here for +months, literally a prisoner. I have absolutely no communication with my +friends, or with the outside world. This man Wiggins declares that he is +my guardian, and can do as he chooses. He says that a guardian has as +much authority over his ward as a father over his child.” + +“Oh! I think I understand. He may be partly right, after all. You are +young yet, you know. You are not of age.” + +“I am of age,” said Edith, mournfully, “and that is what makes it so +intolerable. If I were under age I might bear it for a time. There +might then appear to be, at least, the show of right on his side. But as +it is, there is nothing but might. He has imprisoned me. He has put me +under surveillance. I am watched at this moment.” + +“Who? where?” exclaimed Dudleigh, looking hastily around. + +“Oh, in the woods--a black named Hugo. He tracks me like a blood-hound, +and never loses sight of me when I am out. He may not hear what we are +saying, but he will tell his master that I have spoken with you.” + +“Are there spies in the Hall?” + +“Oh yes; his housekeeper watches me always.” + +“Is there no place where we can talk without being seen or heard? +Believe me, Miss Dalton, your situation fills me with grief and pity. +All this is so unexpected, so strange, so incredible!” + +“We may, perhaps, be more free from observation in the Hall--at least I +think so. The drawing-room is better than this. Will you allow me to do +the honors of Dalton Hall?” + +Dudleigh bowed, and the two walked toward the Hall, and entering, +proceeded to the drawing-room. + +“We are undoubtedly watched, even here,” said Edith, with a melancholy +smile, “but the watcher can not observe us very well, and has to stand +too far off to hear us easily, so that this room is perhaps better than +out-of-doors; at any rate, it is more convenient.” + +“Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh, “I am glad beyond all that words can say +that I managed to get through your gates. My vague threats terrified +Wiggins, though in reality I have no knowledge about him sufficiently +definite to give me any actual power over him. I have only heard general +scandal, in which he was mixed up. But he has given me credit for +knowing something important. At any rate, now that I am here, let me do +something for you at once. Command me, and I will obey.” + +“I want but one thing,” said Edith, “and that is to get out.” + +“Well?” + +“Will you lead the way and let me follow? That is all I ask of you.” + +“Certainly, and if you could only go out over my dead body, that price +should be paid, and you should go.” + +Dudleigh spoke quickly, but with no particular earnestness. Indeed, in +all his tones there was a lack of earnestness. The words were excellent, +but they lacked depth and warmth. Edith, however, was too much excited +by the prospect of help to notice this. + +“There is no need of that,” said she; “there is no real danger.” + +“I rather think from the look of that ruffian at the gate that there +will be some such price,” said Dudleigh, carelessly. “If I had only +brought my pistols, all would be easy. Can it be managed? How shall we +do it? Do you think that you have nerve enough, Miss Dalton, to witness +a fight?” + +“Yes,” said Edith, calmly. + +“If I had my pistols,” said Dudleigh, thoughtfully, “I might--But as it +is, if they, see you accompanying me, they will assemble in force.” + +“Yes,” said Edith, sadly, for she began to see difficulties. + +“Now do you think that if you are with me the porter will open the +gates?” + +“He will not.” + +“Well, we must get out in some other way. Can you climb the wall? I +might climb and help you over.” + +“Yes, but they would follow and prevent us.” + +Dudleigh looked at the floor. Then he put his small gloved hand on his +forehead, and appeared for a few moments to be lost in thought. + +“Miss Dalton,” said he at last, “I am at your service. Can you tell me +what I can do?--for to save my life I can think of nothing just now. +Give me my orders.” + +Edith looked perplexed. She knew that this man could not force his way +unarmed through the gates. She did not feel inclined just yet to tell +him to arm himself and shoot any one dead who opposed him. She could not +bear to think of that. But here was Dudleigh, ready. + +“Have you any fire-arms in the house?” he asked. + +“No,” said Edith, “and, besides, I can not bear just yet to cause any +thing like bloodshed.” + +“If not, then you can not get free at once. Can you wait one day, or two +days?” + +“One or two days!” said Edith. “Oh yes; one or two weeks, or even +months. Only let me hope, and I can wait.” + +“You have this to comfort you, at any rate,” said Dudleigh, “that +outside the gates you have a friend. And now I will not intrude any +longer. I must go. But if you will allow me I will come back to-morrow. +Meanwhile I will try to think over what is best to be done.” + +“You will promise,” said Edith, imploringly, “not to desert me?” + +“Desert you? Never! On the honor of a gentleman!” cried Dudleigh; and as +he bowed his head there came over his face a very singular smile, which +Edith, however, did not see. + +He then took his leave. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH + +Edith slept but little that night. The prospect of escape agitated her +whole being, and the new friend who had so unexpectedly appeared took up +all her thoughts. + +He was a little man most certainly, and Edith already caught herself +thinking of him as “_Little Dudleigh_.” He had nothing whatever of +the hero about him. Mowbray, as far as appearances went, far surpassed +her new acquaintance in that respect. Still Edith felt bound to overlook +or to excuse his slight frame, and in the effort to do this she recalled +all the little men of history. She thought of a saying which she had +once heard, that “all great men are small men.” This sentiment included +under the head of little men Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, +Napoleon, with others of the same class, for the list had evidently been +made up by one who was himself a little man, and was anxious to enter a +forcible protest against the scorn of his bigger brethren. On the +present occasion the list of little heroes was so formidable that Edith +was prepared to find in “Little Dudleigh” all she wished. Still, in +spite of his generous offers, and his chivalrous proposal to put down +his dead body for her to march over, she did not feel for him that +admiration which such heroism deserved; and she even reproached herself +for her lack of common gratitude, for in her high spirits at the +prospect of escape, she caught herself more than once smiling at the +recollection of “Little Dudleigh's” little ways, his primness, and +effeminacy. + +At about ten o'clock on the following day “Little Dudleigh” came back. + +“That beggar at the gate,” said he, after the usual greetings, “looks +very hard at me, but he doesn't pretend to hinder me from coming or +going just yet, though what he may do in time remains to be seen.” + +“Oh,” said Edith, “you must manage to get me out before Wiggins has a +chance to prevent you from coming in.” + +[Illustration: “I MUST USE THESE, THEN.”] + +“I hope so,” said Dudleigh. “Of course, Miss Dalton, as you may suppose, +I have been thinking of you ever since I left you, and planning a +thousand schemes. But I have made up my mind to this, and you must make +up yours to the same. I am sorry, but it can not be avoided. I mean +_bloodshed_.” + +“Bloodshed!” said Edith, sadly. + +“Of course it is terrible to a lady to be the cause of bloodshed,” said +Dudleigh, quietly, “and if there were any other way I would find it out, +or you would know about it. But from what I have seen and heard, and +from what I know of Wiggins, I see that there is nothing left but to +force our way out, for the place is thoroughly guarded day and night.” + +“So it is,” said Edith, mournfully. + +“If I take you out, I must--Are we overheard?” he asked, looking +cautiously around. + +“I think not; at least not if you speak low.” + +“I must use these, then,” said he, drawing a brace of pistols in a +careless way from his coat pocket, and showing them to Edith. + +Edith recoiled involuntarily. Bloodshed, and perhaps death, the scandal +that would arise, arrest perhaps, or examination before magistrates--all +these thoughts came before her. She was brave, but things like these +could not be lightly faced. She was brave, but she could not decide just +yet that any man's life should be taken for the sake of her liberty. + +“I can not bear that,” said she. + +“You will get used to them,” said Dudleigh, cheerfully. “They are easy +to handle.” + +“Put them back.” + +“But what else is there to do?” + +“I'm sure I don't know,” said Edith, in a dejected tone. + +“Well,” said Dudleigh, after a pause, “I thought of this. It is natural. +I anticipated some such objection as this on your part. I know very +well what it is that you fear, and I don't know but that you are right. +Still, I have other plans, which may not appear so objectionable. But in +the first place, let me know finally, do you positively and absolutely +reject this?” and he tapped the pistols significantly. + +“I can not yet consent to risk any life,” said Edith. + +“Very well; this may remain over until every thing else fails.” + +“But couldn't you use these pistols to terrify them? The sight might +make them open the gates.” + +“But it might not, and what then? Are you prepared to answer that?” And +“Little Dudleigh,” who had been speaking about these things as lightly +and as carelessly as a lady would speak about a dress or the trimmings +of a bonnet, paused, and looked at her inquiringly. “The fact is,” he +continued, as Edith did not answer, “you must be willing to run the risk +of _killing a man_. Your liberty is worth this price. If you say +to me, 'Open those gates,' that is what you must encounter. Will you +face it? Say the word, and now, _now_, at this very moment, I will +lead you there.” + +The offer of immediate escape was thus presented, and for a moment Edith +hesitated, but the cost was too great. + +“Oh,” she cried, “this is terrible! But I will not consent. No, I will +suffer longer rather than pay so frightful a price as human life.” + +“Well,” said Dudleigh, “after all, since you have decided this way, I +think you are about right. After all, there is really no necessity for +so desperate a course. But I have a high idea of what a lady has a right +to demand of a gentleman, and I am ready to do what you say.” + +“But you have other plans, have you not?” + +“Yes, but slow ones--safe but slow. The question is, can you wait? Can +you endure your present life? and how long?” + +“Rather than cause the loss of life,” said Edith, “I would endure this +very much longer.” + +“Oh, you will not have to endure it so very long. If you are not too +impatient, the time may pass quickly too. But before I make any further +proposals, will you allow me to ask you one question? It is this: +Suppose you were to escape to-day, where would you go?” + +“I have thought about that,” said Edith. “My dearest friend is Miss +Plympton. She is the head of the school where I have spent the greater +part of my life. She is the one to whom I should naturally go, but she +keeps a boarding-school, and I do not wish to go there and meet my old +school-mates and see so many. I wish to be secluded. I have sometimes +thought of going to that neighborhood, and finding a home where I could +occasionally see Miss Plympton, and at other times I have thought of +going to my uncle, Sir Lionel Dudleigh.” + +At this last remark Dudleigh opened his eyes. + +“Who?” he asked. “I don't understand.” + +“He is my uncle, you know,” said Edith--“that is, by marriage--and +therefore he is naturally the one to whom I should look for defense +against Wiggins. In that case Sir Lionel will be far better than poor +dear Auntie Plympton. I'm afraid that Wiggins has already frightened her +away from me.” + +“But how would you get to Sir Lionel?” asked Dudleigh, with a puzzled +expression. + +“Well, that is what I want to find out. I have no idea where he lives. +But you can tell me all about him. I should have asked before, but other +things interfered. I will go to him. I feel confident that he will not +cast me off.” + +“Cast you off! I should think not,” said Dudleigh; “but the difficulty +is how to find him. You can get to Dudleigh Manor easily enough--every +body knows where that is. But what then? Nobody is there.” + +“What! Is not Sir Lionel there?” + +“Sir Lionel there! I only wish he was. Why, is it possible that you do +not know that Sir Lionel is positively not in England? He travels all +the time, and only comes home occasionally. Perhaps you know the +cause--his family troubles ten years ago. He had a row with his wife +then, and it has blighted his life. Sir Lionel? Why, at this moment I +dare say he is somewhere among the Ural Mountains, or Patagonia, or some +other equally remote country. But who told you that he was in England?” + +Edith was silent. She had taken it for granted that Sir Lionel lived in +his own home. + +“Can I not write to him?” she asked. + +“Of course, if you can only secure his address; and that I will do my +utmost to find out for you. But to do this will be a work of time.” + +“Yes,” sighed Edith. + +“And what can you do in the mean time? Where can you go?” + +“There is Miss Plympton.” + +“Yes, your teacher. And you don't wish to go to the school, but to some +private place near it. Now what sort of a woman is Miss Plympton? Bold +and courageous?” + +“I'm afraid not,” said Edith, after a thoughtful pause. “I know that she +loves me like a mother, and when I first came here I should have relied +on her to the utmost. But now I don't know. At any rate, I think she +can be easily terrified.” And Edith went on to tell about Miss +Plympton's letter to her, and subsequent silence. + +“I think with you,” said Dudleigh, after Edith had ended, “that the +letter is a forgery. But what is difficult to understand is this +apparent desertion of you. This may be accounted for, however, in one of +two ways. First, Wiggins may actually have seen her, and frightened her +in some way. You say she is timid. The other explanation of her silence +is that she may be ill.” + +“Ill!” exclaimed Edith, mournfully. + +“It may be so.” + +“May she not all this time have been trying to rescue me, and been +baffled?” + +Dudleigh smiled. + +“Oh no. If she had tried at all you would have heard something about it +before this; something would certainly have been done. The claim of +Wiggins would have been contested in a court of law. Oh no; she has +evidently done nothing. In fact, I think that, sad as it may seem to +you, there can be no doubt about her illness. You say she left you here. +No doubt she felt terrible anxiety. The next day she could not see you. +Her love for you, and her anxiety, would, perhaps, be too much for her. +She may have been taken home ill.” + +Edith sighed. The picture of Miss Plympton's grief was too much for her. + +“At any rate,” said she, “if I can't find any friends--if Sir Lionel is +gone, and poor dear auntie is ill, I can be free. I can help nurse her. +Any life is better than this; and I can put my case in the hands of the +lawyers.” + +“You are, of course, well supplied with money,” said Dudleigh, +carelessly. + +“Money?” + +“Yes; so as to travel, you know, and live, and pay your lawyers.” + +“I have no money,” said Edith, helplessly; “that is, not more than a few +sovereigns. I did not think of that.” + +“No money?” + +“No--only a little.” + +“No money! Why, how is that? No money? Why, what can you do?” + +“Wiggins manages every thing, and has all the money.” + +“You have never obtained any from him as yet, then?” + +“I have never needed any.” + +“He spends your own money in paying these spies and jailers. But if you +have no money, how can you manage to live, even if you do escape?” + +Edith looked down in despair. The idea of money had never entered her +mind. Yet now, since it was mentioned, she felt its importance. Yes, +money was the chief thing; without that flight was useless, and liberty +impossible. But how could she get it? Wiggins would not give her any. +And where could she go? Could she go to Miss Plympton's, to be a +dependent upon her at the school? That thought was intolerable. Much as +she loved Miss Plympton, she could not descend to that. + +“You are certainly not very practical,” said Dudleigh, “or your first +thought would have been about this. But you have none, you say, and so +it can not be remedied. Is there any thing else? You see you can escape; +but what then?” + +Dudleigh was silent, and Edith looked at him in deep suspense. + +“You say you never see Wiggins now?” + +“No.” + +“You are not subject to insults?” + +“No--to none.” + +“Have you the Hall to yourself?” + +“Oh yes; I am not interfered with. As long as I stay inside the Hall I +am left to myself--only I am watched, of course, as I told you.” + +“Of course; but, at any rate, it seems a sort of honorable captivity. +You are not like a captive in a dungeon, for instance.” + +“Oh no.” + +“Would you rather be here, as you are, or at Miss Plympton's school as a +sort of dependent?” + +“Here, of course. I could not go back there, and face them all.” + +“Would you rather live here or in some mean lodging, without money to +pay your board?” + +“Here,” said Edith, after a pause. + +“There are worse situations in the world than this, then?” + +“It seems so,” said Edith, slowly. + +“By leaving this just now you would be doing worse, then?” + +“It looks like it.” + +“Well, then, may it not be better for you to remain here, for the +present at least, until you hear something from Sir Lionel Dudleigh?” + +“But how long will that be?” + +“I can not tell.” + +“Is there nothing else?” + +“Certainly the first thing for you to do is to see a lawyer.” + +“But how can I?” + +“I can find one.” + +“But will you?” + +“Of course. I shall be most happy. Only answer me this: If a lawyer +takes up your case, shall you be willing to live here, or shall you +insist on leaving?” + +“I should prefer leaving,” said Edith; “but at the same time, if a +lawyer has my case, and I can feel that something is being done, I can +be content here, at least for a time, until I hear from Sir Lionel--or +Miss Plympton.” + +“Well, then, for the present at least, you give up the idea of fighting +your way out?” + +“Yes--I suppose so.” + +“Then all that I have to do is to get a lawyer for you, and write to Sir +Lionel, wherever he is.” + +“You will not let Wiggins keep my lawyer away?” said Edith, in an +imploring voice. + +“Oh, I fancy he has such a wholesome dread of lawyers that he won't try +to keep one out. At any rate, these lawyers have all kinds of ways, you +know, of getting places.” + +“And of getting people out of places, too, I hope.” + +“I should be sorry not to hope that.” + +So Edith found herself compelled to face the difficulties of her present +situation a little longer, and endure as best she could the restraint of +her imprisonment. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +A WARNING. + +The barriers which Wiggins had raised between Edith and the outer world +had thus been surmounted by two persons--first, Mowbray, and second, +Little Dudleigh. Mowbray had come and gone without any sign of +objection or remonstrance from her jailer; and now Edith could not help +wondering at the facility with which the new-comer, Dudleigh, passed and +repassed those jealously guarded limits. Dudleigh's power arose from +some knowledge of the past history of Wiggins, but the knowledge did not +seem very definite, and she could not help wondering how long his visits +would be tolerated. + +She was not left to wonder long. On the evening of the day on which +Dudleigh had made his last visit Wiggins came to see her. She had not +seen him since that time when he had brought her the so-called letter of +Miss Plympton, except once when she had caught a glimpse of him when +riding with Mowbray. He now entered in his usual manner, with his solemn +face, his formal bow, his abstracted gaze. He sat down, and for a few +moments said nothing. + +“I do not often inflict my presence on you, Miss Dalton,” said he at +length. “I have too much regard for you to intrude upon you. Some day +you will understand me, and will appreciate my present course. It is +only for your own sake that I now come, because I see that you are +thoughtless and reckless, and are living under a delusion. You are +almost beyond my control, yet I still hope that I may have some faint +influence over you--or at least I can try.” + +His tone was gentle and affectionate. It was, in fact, paternal in its +character; but this tone, instead of softening Edith, only seemed to her +a fresh instance of his arrogant assumption, and, as such, excited her +contempt and indignation. These feelings, however, she repressed for the +moment, and looked at him with a cold and austere face. + +“You have been receiving visitors,” he continued, “visitors whom I could +have kept away if I had--chosen. But to do so would have interfered with +my plans, and so I have tolerated them. You, however, have been all +along under such a--mistake--about me--and my intentions--that you have +thrown yourself upon these strangers, and have, I grieve to say, +endangered your own future, and mine, more than you can possibly +imagine. Your first visitor was objectionable, but I tolerated him for +reasons that I need not explain; but this last visitor is one who ought +not to be tolerated either by you or by me. And now I come to you to +give you--a--an affectionate warning--to ask of you not to be so +reckless, so careless of your best interests, so blind to the great +issues that are at stake in--a--my--present plans.” + +“You appear to me,” said Edith, coldly “to have some reference to +Lieutenant Dudleigh.” + +“That is what he calls himself.” + +“Calls himself?” + +“Yes. This name Dudleigh is an assumed one. He took that so as to gain +your confidence.” + +“You appear to know him very well.” + +“I do not.” + +“How do you know, then, that this name is assumed?” + +“Because I happen to know the Dudleigh family, and this man does not +belong to it. I never saw him before.” + +“There are more Dudleighs in the world than the family you speak of.” + +“He is an adventurer,” said Wiggins. “You know nothing about him. I +believe his name is false, as he himself is false. Does he not pretend +to be the son of Sir Lionel?” + +“No; he says that he is only a distant relation to Sir Lionel.” + +“He is no relation whatever,” said Wiggins. “You are allowing yourself +to be led astray by a man of whom you know nothing--a designing villain, +an adventurer.” + +“It is strange that you should apply such terms to a man of whom you +yourself acknowledge that you know nothing. But, at any rate,” continued +Edith, with strong emphasis, “_he knows you_. It is this knowledge +that gives him the power of passing through those gates which you shut +against me; what that knowledge may be you yourself know best.” + +“He does not know me,” said Wiggins. + +“He must,” said Edith, “for the simple reason that you dare not keep him +out.” + +Wiggins looked at her in silence for some time. + +“It is a terrible ordeal for me,” said he at last, in a slow, measured +tone, “to talk with you. You seem to me like one who is mad; but it is +the madness of utter ignorance. You do not know. Oh, how you tempt me +to tell you all! But I can not, I can not. My lips are sealed as yet. +But I will say no more on that. I will ask you one question only. It is +this: Can you not see with your own eyes that this man is nothing more +than a mere adventurer?” + +“An adventurer!” repeated Edith, indignantly. “It ill becomes one like +you to use such a word as that. For what are you yourself? Lieutenant +Dudleigh is a gentleman; and though I have only known him for a short +time, I am happy in calling him my friend. I will tolerate no abuse of +him. Why do you not say this to his face? If he is what you say, why do +you allow him to come here? An adventurer? Why, that is the very name I +apply in all my thoughts to you!” + +A look of anguish came over the face of Wiggins. He trembled violently, +but with an effort mastered his feelings. Evidently what he said was +true, and to him it was a severe ordeal to carry on a conversation with +Edith. Her scorn, her anger, and her hate all flamed forth so vehemently +that it was hard to endure. + +“If you could only refrain from these bitter insults!” said he, in a +mournful voice. “If you could only put a check upon yourself when you +talk with me! I wish to speak calmly, but you hurl taunts at me that +inflict exquisite pain. The remembrance of them will one day give no +less anguish to you, believe me--oh, believe me! Spare me these taunts +and insults, I entreat you, for the sake of both of us!” + +“Both of us?” repeated Edith, without being in the slightest degree +affected by the words of Wiggins. “Both of us? You seem to me to be +including yourself and me in the same class, as though there could be +any thing in common between me and one like you. That is impossible. Our +interests are forever separate.” + +“You do not know,” said Wiggins, with a great effort to be calm. “This +man--this Lieutenant Dudleigh, as he calls himself--is an enemy to both +of us.” + +“You use that expression with strange pertinacity. I must tell you again +that there can not possibly be any thing in common between you and me. +For my part, I consider you as my natural enemy. You are my jailer. I am +your prisoner. That is all. I am at war with you. I would give half of +my possessions to escape from your hands, and the other half to punish +you for what you have done. I live in the hope of some day meting out to +you the punishment which your crimes deserve. If any one is an enemy of +yours, that one thing is a sufficient recommendation to make him a +friend of mine.” + +At these words Wiggins seemed to endure a keener anguish, and his face +bore upon it the same pallid horror which she had seen there before upon +a similar provocation. He stared at her for a few moments, and then +bowing down, he leaned his head upon his hand and looked at the floor in +silence. At last, he raised his head and looked at her with a calm face. + +“Is there no possible way,” said he, “in which I can speak to you +without receiving wounds that sting like the fangs of a serpent? Be +patient with me. If I offend, try to be a little forbearing just now, +for the sake of yourself, if for nothing else. See, I am humbling +myself. I ask your forbearance. I wish to speak for your own good. +For, as it is, you are doing you know not what. You are ruining +yourself; you are blighting and blasting your own future; you are +risking your reputation; you are exposing the family name to the sneers +of the world, once again. Think of your frantic adventure at the gates +with that--that Mowbray!” + +Now if Wiggins had wished to mollify Edith, or to persuade her to fall +in with his own wishes, he was certainly most unfortunate in his way of +going about it; and especially in such an allusion as this. For no +sooner did he mention the name of Mowbray than Edith was roused to a +fresh excitement. + +“What!” she exclaimed. “Do _you_ throw that up to _me_--you of +all men? Who, I ask you, was the cause of all the shame and misery and +violence that I suffered there? Who was the one that made it necessary? +Who was the one that brought me to such a pitch of desperation that I +was ready to do any thing, however wild or frantic? Who? Why, you +yourself--you, who come to me now, and with a solemn voice ask me to +calm myself. Is it not possible for you to see what a horrible mockery +all this must be to me? But I will do what you ask. I will be calm in +spite of all. Come, now, I will meet you on your own ground. I will ask +you one thing. How much money will you take to let me go free?” + +At this request Wiggins stared at her with the expression of one who, +while already reeling under a stroke, has received some new blow. He +started from his chair to his feet, and stood for a moment regarding her +with an indescribable look. But again he mastered his emotions, and +finally resumed his seat. + +“I don't know what to say to you!” he exclaimed. “I came to advise you, +and to warn you. I have done every thing. There is one thing which would +put an end to all this misery which you inflict on me, but that one +thing I wish on no account to say just now. I can not just yet give up +the hope that has cheered me for so long a time; still, I must warn you. +Rash girl, you have already suffered from this Mowbray, as he calls +himself. Do you not see that this new visitor, this so-called Dudleigh, +is nothing else than the ally, the associate, the partner, the emissary +of Mowbray?” + +“The associate of Mowbray,” said Edith, quietly, “is yourself. You sent +him to me, I have no doubt. You have your own schemes. What they are I +do not know, nor do I care to know. As for Lieutenant Dudleigh, he is, I +feel sure, an honorable gentleman, and his associates are far, very far +different from such as you and Mowbray. He is the friend of one whom I +also regard now as my only friend--one whom I never cease to pray to +reach--one whom I hope yet to find, and by his help escape from your +infamous control, and punish you for all your villainy toward me and +mine.” + +“What is this? What do you mean? A friend?” + +Wiggins uttered these words in a bewildered way. + +“The friend whom I hope to reach,” said Edith, “the one to whom I look +for vengeance on you, is Sir Lionel Dudleigh.” + +“Sir Lionel Dudleigh!” repeated Wiggins, with a groan. + +“You!” + +“Yes, Sir Lionel Dudleigh!” said Edith. “I see that you are agitated at +the mention of that name--the name of an honorable man--a man of +stainless name, who has nothing in common with such as you. Let me tell +you that the time will yet come when you shall have to meet Sir Lionel +Dudleigh face to face, and then you will have reason to tremble!” + +At this Wiggins rose. He did not look at Edith. He did not say a word. +He seemed overwhelmed. His head was bowed down on his breast; his eyes +were fixed on the floor; and he walked with a slow and weary pace out of +the room. + +“It was the threat of Sir Lionel Dudleigh,” thought Edith, “that +terrified him. He knows that the time is coming when he will have to +give an account; and he fears Sir Lionel Dudleigh more than any other +living man.” + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: DEAR LITTLE DUDLEIGH] + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +LITTLE DUDLEIGH. + +Little Dudleigh now came to the Hall nearly every day, and devoted +himself to Edith. In spite of his devotion, however, her admiration for +him never rose to a very high pitch. There was something about the +little man which was too prim and precise--an indescribable something +which made her feel a half contempt, against which it was difficult to +struggle even by keeping her mind fixed on his valuable services. His +little particular ways were more appropriate to a woman than to a man, +and excited her impatience. Still she felt that he must have plenty of +courage, for had he not offered to risk his life, and had he not come +armed and prepared to force a way for her out of the park? + +Edith, like all generous natures, was frank and confiding. She was +warm-hearted, impulsive, and quick to show gratitude. After the society +of the Mowbrays, she found that of Little Dudleigh an inexpressible +relief. What struck her most about him was his unvarying calmness. He +must have some personal regard for her, she was sure, for on what other +grounds would he come to see her so incessantly, and spend so much time +with her? Yet he never showed much of this in his manner. He frequently +paid compliments, and alluded to his willingness to do any thing to +serve her; but he seldom indulged in sentiment. He never showed any +approach to the tenderness of love. On the whole Edith was immensely +relieved at this, for the little man was one whom she could cordially +appreciate as a disinterested friend, but whose approach toward +gallantry or sentiment would have been repugnant in the extreme. + +Little Dudleigh certainly exerted all his powers to make himself +agreeable, and not without success. For Edith, who was naturally of a +radiant temper, was now in high spirits at her brightening prospects, +and it was easy to amuse her. Dudleigh had innumerable stories to tell +of London life, and these stories referred almost exclusively to the +theatre. He appeared to be intimately acquainted with all the +“professional” world, and more particularly with the actresses. His +stories about them were generally of a light, gossiping character, +referring to their petty failings, jealousies, and weaknesses, and +seemed like the malicious tales which actresses tell about one another. +Still none of them were at all unfit for a lady's ear, and in all of +them there was some absurdity which compensated for their maliciousness. +Little Dudleigh seemed to understand most thoroughly the female nature, +its excellences and its defects, its strength and its weaknesses. In his +anecdotes about men he was never so successful. His familiarity with +women's ways was quite remarkable, and extended even to the smallest +details of dress and ornament. His whole manner put Edith singularly at +her ease, and she sometimes caught herself speaking to him almost as she +used to speak to her fellow school-girls. + +Little Dudleigh's society thus became quite agreeable, and Edith looked +forward each day to his appearance with something like impatience. There +was, after all, every reason why she should enjoy it. She had no other +associate, and this one upon whom she was thrown exerted all his powers +for the sole purpose of pleasing her. + +There was very little of any thing like enthusiasm about Little +Dudleigh, and in this respect he differed very widely from Edith. She +would go into raptures over every beautiful scene. A brilliant sky, a +rich landscape, a quiet woodland view, all served to excite her admiring +comments. Little Dudleigh, however, showed no such feeling. He confessed +himself indifferent to natural scenery, and partial only to city life; +and while he acknowledged the beauty of the place, he yet declared that +he found more to admire in a drawing-room or a theatre. + +Meanwhile the little man had not been idle. On his first visit after the +conversation last detailed he informed Edith that he had written to +London, making inquiries about Sir Lionel. A few days afterward he +showed Edith a letter which he said he had received from Sir Lionel's +London solicitors. The writer stated that he did not know where Sir +Lionel was, but that he would write to a firm in Marseilles, who were +his bankers and agents. The opinion of the writer was that the baronet +was somewhere about the Mediterranean. This intelligence was rather +distressing to Edith, but she had been prepared for something of the +kind; and as Little Dudleigh encouraged her, and pointed out many +reasons for hope, she took heart and hoped for the best. + +According to Little Dudleigh, Sir Lionel was always traveling. During +ten or twelve years he said that he had not been in England more than +three or four times. It was on one of these occasions that he had met +with him, and had received from him certain acts of kindness which made +him grateful to his benefactor. Sir Lionel, he said, had been a great +traveler, having been through every part of Europe and America, and most +of Asia. He was constantly roving about to different places, sometimes +by land, at other times in his own yacht. This, he thought, must be the +reason why Edith had never heard from him. Personally he was most +kind-hearted and generous, and if he only knew the situation in which +she was, he would fly to her assistance. + +Little Dudleigh also alluded in a general way to Sir Lionel's family +troubles. The quarrel with his wife, he said, had broken up the +baronet's life, and made him a wanderer. He knew nothing about the +cause, but had heard that Lady Dudleigh had been very much to blame, and +had deserted her husband under very painful circumstances. It was this +that had made the unhappy husband a wanderer. Lady Dudleigh, he thought, +had died years ago. + +Such was the state of things, according to Little Dudleigh, and Edith +had only to make up her mind to wait until something more definite was +known. In the mean time, however, Little Dudleigh had not been unmindful +of Miss Plympton, but wrote a letter to her, which he showed to Edith. +Edith also wrote one, which was inclosed in his. Several weeks passed +away, but no reply was received, and this silence distressed Edith +greatly. At length, when she had lost all hope of hearing from her dear +friend, a reply came. It was written from Italy, and Edith read it with +feelings of mingled amazement and anxiety. + +It was written in a strange hand, and informed Lieutenant Dudleigh that +his letter and inclosure had been forwarded from Plympton Terrace, where +it had been first sent, to Miss Plympton's present abode at Nice; and +went on to say that Miss Plympton had come back from Dalton care-worn by +anxiety and fatigue, that a severe illness had been the result, and that +she had been sent to the south of France. The writer stated that she was +still too feeble to undergo any excitement, and therefore that +Lieutenant Dudleigh's letter and inclosure had not been shown her. As +soon as Miss Plympton's health would admit of it the letters would be +given to her. It was uncertain how long she would remain at Nice. They +were thinking now of taking her to Germany or Switzerland. The school +had been broken up for the present. This letter was signed by “Adèle +Swinburne,” who said that she was Miss Plympton's “attendant.” It was a +name that Edith had never heard of before. + +It never occurred to Edith to question for one moment the authenticity +of this letter. She accepted it all as truth, and was filled with +grief. Miss Plympton, then, had not been forgetful. She had done what +she could, and this illness was the result. It seemed now to Edith that +the climax of her sorrows had been reached in the sufferings and exile +of her only friend. + +“And now, Miss Dalton,” said Little Dudleigh, after a long silence, in +which he had watched her with respectful sympathy, “what do you wish to +do?” + +“I'm afraid that I shall have to rely upon you altogether,” said Edith. + +“You want something to be done as soon as possible, of course.” + +“Of course--most earnestly.” + +“You see, then, that both Sir Lionel and Miss Plympton are quite out of +our reach. If you wish for deliverance you must try something else.” + +“What else can I try?” + +“Well, the law.” + +“The law? Of course, that is just what I wish.” + +“It is tedious, remember.” + +“Oh, if I can only make a beginning, I can wait. It isn't my life here, +or even my imprisonment, that is intolerable so much as my helplessness, +and the thought that I am doing nothing, and the impunity with which +this wretched Wiggins carries out his purposes. If I could only know +that the affair was in the hands of a lawyer, I should feel content.” + +“Yes, women have a great faith in lawyers.” + +“At any rate, there most be something in the law, although it is often +baffled.” + +“There ought to be, certainly; but of course you must be prepared to +have your suit resisted. Wiggins will also have lawyers, and the ablest +ones that he can find.” + +“Then I must get better ones.” + +“Of course.” + +“And immediately, too, without waiting any longer,” said Edith, +impatiently. + +“Well, I will get you one as soon as possible, if you say so.” + +“Lieutenant Dudleigh,” said Edith, with deep emotion, “you have claims +on my gratitude which I can never repay.” + +“It is the happiest moment of my life,” said Little Dudleigh, with +greater animation than usual, “since I have heard you say that. But +don't speak of gratitude. Say, at the most, friendship. If you will +only accept my humble services, they are all yours, and my life too, if +necessary.” + +“Oh,” said Edith, with a smile, “there will be no danger to your life +now, you know, if I put my case in the hands of lawyers.” + +“Well, now, talking of lawyers,” said Little Dudleigh, “since you have +made up your mind to this, it will be necessary to be very cautious in +choosing one.” + +“I must have the best counsel in England.” + +“Certainly, for Wiggins will be on the alert. With him every thing is at +stake. If he loses, it will be absolute ruin. In the course of the +trial his whole past life must come up.” + +“And it ought to come up,” said Edith, indignantly. + +“We must, as you say, have the best counsel in England. An ordinary man +might ruin all. You must get the best lawyer in London. And now I would +not advise you to choose the most eminent one there, for fear lest the +multitude of his engagements might prevent him from giving to your case +the attention which it requires. You want some one who will give his +whole soul to the case--some shrewd, deep, wily, crafty man, who +understands thoroughly all the ins and outs of law, and can circumvent +Wiggins in every way.” + +“But I don't like these wily lawyers,” said Edith, doubtfully. “I prefer +honorable men.” + +“Yes, certainly, as friends, no doubt you do; but you are not now +seeking for a friend. You are on the look-out for a servant, or, +rather, for one who can fight your battle best, and deal the best and +surest blows upon Wiggins.” + +“Well, I'm sure I don't know,” said Edith, doubtfully. + +“Now I'll tell you what I'll do, if you'll consent,” said Little +Dudleigh. “I'll go to London and seek out the right man myself. There +is no use in writing letters. I must go and explain the thing +personally.” + +“Lieutenant Dudleigh,” said Edith, in deep emotion, “I do not know what +to say. You really overwhelm me with kindnesses. I can only say that +you have earned my life-long gratitude.” + +Little Dudleigh shook his head deprecatingly. + +“Miss Dalton,” said he, in a tone of respectful devotion, “the favor is +all yours, and the pleasure is all mine. Believe me, I feel happy beyond +expression at being able to do any thing for you.” + +And after some further conversation, Little Dudleigh took his leave. + +“How noble and generous he is!” thought Edith, as she watched him walk +down the avenue. “Dear Little Dudleigh, what a pity it is that he is not +a few inches taller!” + + * * * * * + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +THE MAN OF LAW. + +The departure of Dudleigh left Edith to the monotony of her solitary +life. If Dudleigh had desired to win her affections, he could certainly +have chosen no better way of doing so, for by this course he made +himself greatly missed, and caused Edith to count the days in her +impatience for his return. In her loneliness she could not help +recalling the hours she had passed with her agreeable visitor, and thus +was forced to give him a large portion of her thoughts. His connection +with Sir Lionel seemed of itself a recommendation of the strongest kind, +and all that he had done for her, and was still doing, filled her +generous soul with gratitude. + +Thinking thus about him, she recalled his whole manner and appearance. +The worst that could be said against him was that he was effeminate. But +at any rate that was better than being brutal. Otherwise he was frank +and engaging and clever and gentlemanly. He had evidently a high sense +of honor. He was devoted to her. From the first time when he had heard +her story down to the present moment he had not ceased to think for her +and to work for her. Even now he had gone to London to obtain for her +what she most wanted--the assistance of the law. + +All these things made him appear in a more favorable light than ever. +She recalled his heroism and devotion. She considered that he had done +as much as if he had laid down his life for her, since he had offered to +do so, and had only been prevented by her prohibition. Little Dudleigh, +then, she thought, with his slight frame and small hands, had more real +manhood than a hundred such big brutes as Mowbray. If he is not a true +man, who is? Could she ever hope again to find so devoted a friend? +Impossible. He had come to her in her very darkest hour; he eagerly +espoused her cause, and had devoted himself with all his soul to her +interests. What more could she wish than this? + +For several weeks Dudleigh remained away, and Edith grew excessively +impatient. She began to fear for his safety. In her anxiety she +sometimes imagined that Wiggins might have caused some harm to fall on +him in London. She recalled all the dangers of the London streets, of +which she had read in various works of fiction, and imagined Wiggins +hiring some cut-throat to follow him, assassinate him at the first +opportunity, and throw his body into the river. She imagined that some +ruffian, hired of course by Wiggins, might tempt him to take a friendly +glass, drug his liquor, and then dispose of his victim in the same +convenient river. Then her mood changed, and she laughed at the +absurdity of such fears, for she well knew that he must be perfectly +familiar with London life and the London streets, so that any thing of +this kind was nonsensical. Then she thought that perhaps no lawyer would +undertake her case without money being paid at once. In fact, all the +fears that could be suggested by an uneasy mind and a very vivid +imagination came crowding before here as the time passed by and Dudleigh +did not return. + +But at last all her fears came to an end. One morning, at the usual +hour, she saw his well-known figure approaching the house. In her eager +joy she hurried at once down stairs, and could scarcely prevent herself +from running down the avenue to meet him. It was with difficulty that +she controlled herself, and waited for him in the drawing-room. + +Little Dudleigh entered with his usual calmness and self-possession. +Edith greeted him with the warmest welcome. + +“But you come alone,” she said, in a tone of disappointment. “You have +not been successful.” + +“In one sense,” said he, “I have been most successful, for I have found +the very man I wanted. I had to wait for him, though. He was in Lyons +when I reached London, and I went over for him and brought him here.” + +“Lyons!” exclaimed Edith. “Why, that's in France. Did you really go over +to France?” + +“Why not?” said Dudleigh, calmly. “I set forth on a certain purpose, and +I am not in the habit of giving up what I undertake to do. Besides, you +forget for whom that business was undertaken and the impulse that drove +me forward.” + +Edith looked at the floor and said nothing. She felt under such +obligations to him that she hardly knew what to say. + +“I should like to have brought the lawyer here at once,” he continued, +“but did not. He is now in this neighborhood, however. The reason why +I did not bring him now was because I wished first to see Wiggins +myself. He must be prepared, or he may make trouble. I wish to frighten +him into allowing him to pass. I shall have to make up some plausible +story, however, to account for his visiting you. I have not yet decided +on what it shall be. I think, however, that the lawyer had better come +here alone. You will, of course, know that he is to be trusted. You may +say to him, in fact, whatever you like.” + +“But wouldn't it be better for you to be present also?” said Edith. “I +may require your advice.” + +“Thank you, Miss Dalton. I assure you I value most highly every +expression of your confidence. But I think it will be better for you to +see him alone. He will give you his card. His name is Barber. If I were +to come with him, Wiggins might suspect. At the same time, I don't know, +after all, but that I may change my mind and come with him. But in any +case you may talk to him freely. He has not been idle, for he has +already mastered your whole situation. You may trust him just as much as +you trust me. You may, in fact, regard him the same as me.” + +“And he will be here to-morrow?” said Edith. + +“Yes.” + +“I know you hate expressions of gratitude,” said Edith, after a pause; +“but I can only say that my own gratitude is beyond expression. You have +given me hope--” + +“Say nothing about it,” said Dudleigh, interrupting her. “That will be +the best thanks, though really I have done nothing to merit +thanks. Duty and honor both impelled me to serve you, without +mentioning--any--a--deeper and stronger feeling.” + +Edith again looked at the floor. She suspected the existence of this +stronger feeling and did not altogether like to think of it. Her own +feelings toward him were singularly cool, and she did not wish him to be +otherwise. His general calmness of demeanor was very pleasant to her, +and his occasional allusions to any deeper sentiment than common, few +though they were, troubled her greatly. What if he should seek as his +reward that which he surely had a right to hope for--her hand? Could she +give it? On the other hand, could she have the heart to refuse it? The +alternative was not pleasant. + +On the following day, while Edith was waiting in great impatience, a +stranger came to the Hall to call upon her. + +The stranger was a small-sized man, with round shoulders, gray hair, +bushy eyebrows, and sallow skin. He wore spectacles, his clothes were of +good material, but rather loose fit, betokening one who was indifferent +to dress. His boots were loose, his gloves also, and an umbrella which +he carried, being without a band, had a baggy appearance, which was +quite in keeping with the general style of this man's costume. He looked +to Edith so much like a lawyer that she could not help wondering at the +completeness with which one's profession stamps itself upon the +exterior. + +“I am sent,” said the stranger, after a brief, stiff salutation, “by +Lieutenant Dudleigh, to communicate with you about your present +position. I take it for granted that we shall not be overheard, and +propose to carry on this conversation in as low a tone as possible.” + +Saying this, the stranger took a quick, sharp glance through his +spectacles around the room. + +His voice was dry and thin, his manner abrupt and stiff and +business-like. Evidently he was a dried-up lawyer, whose whole life had +been passed among parchments. + +Edith assured him that from where they were sitting they could not be +overheard if they spoke in a moderately low voice. This appeared to +satisfy the stranger, and after another survey of the room, he drew +forth from his breast pocket a wallet filled with papers--a well-worn, +fat, business-like wallet--and taking from this a card, he rose stiffly +and held this toward Edith. She took it, and glancing over it read the +address: + + HENRY BARBER, + SOLICITOR, + Inner Temple, London. + +Edith bowed. “Lieutenant Dudleigh told me your name,” said she. + +“And now,” said he, “let us proceed to business, for my time is limited. + +“Lieutenant Dudleigh,” he began, “has already explained to me, in a +general way, the state of your affairs. He found me at Lyons, where I +was engaged in some important business, and made me come to England at +once. He directed me verbally, though not formally or in proper order, +to investigate as much as I could about your affairs before coming here, +and requested me to consider myself as your solicitor. That, I suppose, +is quite correct, is it not?” + +“It is,” said Edith. + +“Under these circumstances,” continued Barber, “I at once went to the +proper quarter, and investigated the will of your late father; for your +whole position, as you must be aware, depends upon that. Of course no +will can deprive you of your lawful inheritance in real estate, which +the law of the country secures to you and yours forever; but yet it may +surround you with certain restrictions more or less binding. Now it was +my object to see about the nature of these restrictions, and so +understand your peculiar position.” + +Here Barber paused, and taking out his wallet, drew from it a slip of +paper on which he had penciled some memoranda. + +“In the multiplicity of my legal cares, Miss Dalton,” he continued, “I +find it necessary to jot down notes with reference to each individual +case. It prevents confusion and saves time, both of which are, to a +lawyer, considerations of the utmost moment. + +“And now, with reference to your case, first of all, the will and the +business of the guardianship--let us see about that. According to this +will, you, the heir, are left under the care of two guardians for a +certain time. One of these guardians is on the spot. The other is not. +Each of these men has equal powers. Each one of these is trustee for +you, and guardian of you. But one has no power superior to the other. +This is what the will distinctly lays down. Of course, Miss Dalton, you +will perceive that the first necessary thing is to know this, What are +the powers of a guardian? Is it not?” + +Edith bowed. The mention of two guardians had filled her with eager +curiosity, but she repressed this feeling for the present, so as not to +interrupt the lawyer in his speech. + +“What, then, are the powers of a guardian? To express this in the +simplest way, so that you can understand those powers perfectly, a +guardian stands, as the law has it, _in loco parentis_--which means +that he is the same as a father. The father dies; he perpetuates his +authority by handing it over to another. He is not dead, then. The +_man_ dies, but the _father_ lives in the person of the +guardian whom he may have appointed. Such,” said Mr. Barber, with +indescribable emphasis--“such, Miss Dalton, is the LAW. You must know,” + he continued, “that the law is very explicit on the subject of +guardianship. Once make a man a guardian and, as I have remarked, he +forthwith stands _in loco parentis_, and the ward is his child in +the eye of the LAW. Do you understand?” + +“Yes,” said Edith, in a despondent tone. She felt disappointment and +discouragement at hearing all this, and could only hope that there would +be something yet which would open better prospects. + +“Such, then, are the powers of a guardian,” continued Barber. “They are +very strong, and that will, by giving you guardians, has tied you up.” + +“But I am of age,” said Edith, meekly. + +Barber waved his hand slightly. “That,” said he, “is a point which I +shall consider presently. Just now I will say this--that the framer of +that will considered all these points, and arranged that the +guardianship should continue until such time as you might obtain another +guardian of another kind, before whom all others are powerless.” + +“But who are my guardians?” asked Edith, in great excitement, unable any +longer to repress her curiosity. “One is Wiggins, I know. Who is the +other?” + +“One,” said Barber, “is, as you say, John Wiggins; the other is Sir +Lionel Dudleigh.” + +“Sir Lionel Dudleigh!” exclaimed Edith, while a feeling of profound +satisfaction came to her. “Oh, how glad I am!” + +“It is indeed a good thing that it is so,” said Barber; “but, +unfortunately, he can not at present be of service. For where is he? He +is in parts unknown. He is out of the country. He is, for the present, +the same as though he were dead. It is not probable that he has heard of +your father's death, or of the existence of this will, unless, indeed, +Mr. Wiggins has taken the trouble to find out where he is, and send him +the information. That, however, is not likely. How, then, is it with +you? You have, in point of fact, at the present time virtually but +_one guardian_. He is here on the spot. He is exerting his +authority, and you assert, I think, that he subjects you to a sort of +imprisonment. Miss Dalton, he has a right to do this.” + +Saying this, Barber was silent for a moment, and looked at Edith, and +then at the floor. On the other hand she looked steadfastly at him; but +her hand trembled, and an expression of utter hopelessness came over her +face. + +“Is that all that you have to tell me?” she said at last, in a +despairing voice. + +“Certainly not, Miss Dalton,” said Barber--“certainly not. I have much +more to say. But first it was necessary to explain your position, and +lay down the LAW. There is only one reason why you sent for me, and why +I came. You wish, by some means or other, to get free from the control +of this guardian, John Wiggins.” + +“Yes,” said Edith, earnestly. + +“Very well,” said Barber. “I know all about that. I have been informed +by Lieutenant Dudleigh. You wish in some way or other to gain your +freedom. Now in order to do this there are two different ways, Miss +Dalton, and only two. The first is to find your other guardian, and +obtain his assistance. Who is he? Sir Lionel Dudleigh. Where is he? No +one knows. What then? He must be found. You must send out emissaries, +messengers, detectives, in short; you must send off some one who will +find him wherever he is, and make him acquainted with your position. But +suppose that you can not find him, or that he is indifferent to your +interests--a thing which is certainly possible--what then? What are you +to do? You are then under the control of John Wiggins, your remaining +guardian; and it remains to be seen whether, by the provisions of the +will, there is any other way in which you may escape from that control. +Now the will has made provisions, and here is the other of those two +ways of escape of which I spoke. This is marriage. If you were to marry, +that moment you would be free from the control of John Wiggins; and not +only so, but he would at once be compelled to quit the premises, and +hand in his accounts. Of course his object is to prevent any thing of +that kind, which would be so ruinous to him, and therefore he will keep +you shut up, if possible, as long as he lives; but if you should adopt +this way of escape, Miss Dalton, you would turn the tables at once; and +if, as I have understood is the case, he has made any misappropriations +of money, or defalcations of any kind, he will be bound to make them +good, to the uttermost farthing. Such, Miss Dalton, is the LAW.” + +“And I have no better prospect than this?” exclaimed Edith, in deep +dejection. + +“Those, Miss Dalton, are the only two courses possible.” + +“And if Sir Lionel can not be found?” + +“Then you will have to fall back on the other alternative.” + +“But that is out of the question.” + +“Such, unfortunately are the only provisions of the will.” + +“Then there is no hope,” sighed Edith. + +“Hope? Oh yes! There is plenty of hope. In the first place I would urge +you to lose no time in searching after your uncle.” + +“I shall do so. Will you see to it?” + +“I will do all that I can. You wish me, of course, to act in connection +with Lieutenant Dudleigh.” + +“Of course.” + +“I will begin at once. And now I must go.” + +The lawyer put his memoranda back in the wallet, restoring the latter to +his pocket, and took his hat. + +“But must I remain a prisoner here?” cried Edith. “Is there no law to +free me--none whatever? After all, I am a British subject, and I have +always understood that in England no one can be imprisoned without a +trial.” + +“You are a ward, Miss Dalton, and guardians can control their wards, as +parents control children.” + +“But parents can not control children who are of age.” + +[Illustration: “SUCH MISS DALTON, IS THE LAW!”] + +“A ward is under age till the time specified in the legal instrument +that appoints the guardian. You, until marriage, are what the law calls +an 'infant.' But do not be discouraged, Miss Dalton. We will hunt up Sir +Lionel, and if he can be found we will bring him back to England.” + +Saying this, in the same dry, business-like tone that he had used all +along, Barber bowed himself out. + + * * * * * + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +NEW OBLIGATIONS. + +That interview with the lawyer left Edith in a state of the deepest +dejection. She had certainly not anticipated any thing like this. She +expected that measures would at once be taken to carry on a contest with +Wiggins, and give her her lawful rights, and above all her freedom. It +never for a moment entered her mind to question the truth of a single +statement that Barber had made. His whole communication with her was of +the most business-like character, as it seemed to her, and she thought +he must be eminent in his profession, or else Dudleigh would not have +employed him. And this was the end of all that hope in which she had +been indulging! Her freedom now seemed farther removed than ever. How +could Sir Lionel ever be found? According to Dudleigh, he lived the life +of a wanderer, and left no trace behind him. It was hard for her to +think that her only hope depended upon finding him. + +On the following day Dudleigh came, looking as calm and as unruffled as +usual. + +“Barber has gone back,” said he. “I knew before what he was going to +tell you. I had not the heart to tell you myself, or even to be here +when he was telling you.” + +“It might have saved me some disappointment if _you_ had told me.” + +“But the disappointment would have been as great, and I had not the +heart to inflict sorrow myself upon _you_! I know, after Barber had +explained it to me, how I felt; and I can form some idea of the nature +of your feelings.” + +“So there is nothing to be done,” said Edith, with a sigh. + +“Pardon me, there is very much indeed to be done, though whether it will +result in any thing remains to be seen.” + +“What can I do?” + +“Do? Why, as Barber said, hunt up Sir Lionel.” + +“I'll never find him.” + +“Yes, you can.” + +“How?” + +“By searching, of course. And that is what I have come about now.” + +“Have you thought of any thing new?” + +“No, nothing. I merely came to make a proposal.” + +“What is it?” asked Edith, languidly; for now there seemed no chance for +any thing. + +“It is this,” said Dudleigh. “I propose, if you will allow me, to go +myself.” + +“You!” exclaimed Edith, in great surprise. + +“Yes.” + +“But can you obtain leave to go? You have to go abroad, won't you?” + +“Yes, of course.” + +“But can you leave your regiment?” + +“Oh yes. I can get leave of absence for as long a time as will be needed +for that, I think, without difficulty. In fact, before leaving London, +as soon as I heard Barber's opinion, I put in my request at once for two +months' leave, and I have every reason to believe that they will allow +it. I have one or two influential friends, you know.” + +“And will you really go? asked Edith, in tones of deep feeling, with all +her gratitude evident in her tone and expression. + +“Yes, if you will allow me.” + +“I?--allow you? I am only too glad to have a friend who is willing to +undertake such a thing for me in my distress.” + +“There is nothing, Miss Dalton, which I would not undertake for you.” + +“You are overwhelming me with obligations,” said Edith. “What you have +already done is more than I can ever repay.” + +“Do not speak of obligations,” said Dudleigh, earnestly. “My best reward +is the thought that I may have given you even a temporary relief.” + +“You have given me much happiness,” said Edith, earnestly; “and if it +proves to be only temporary it will not be your fault. You overwhelm me +with a sense of obligation.” + +“Now really, Miss Dalton, if you talk in that way, you will make me feel +ashamed. After all, what have I done? Nothing more than any gentleman +would do. But do not say a word about it again. Let it be taken for +granted that I do this from a selfish motive--simply to please myself, +you know; simply because I love--to do it.” + +Dudleigh spoke in his usual quiet way, without any particular ardor, +although once or twice his voice grew more earnest than usual. Edith +said nothing. She felt a little embarrassed, but the self-possession of +Dudley was perfect; he hinted strongly at love, but seemed not at all +like an ardent lover. He looked and acted simply like a friend; and as +Edith needed a friend above all things, she was glad to accept his +services. + +“My present plan,” said he, “can be easily explained. Sir Lionel seems +to be somewhere about the Mediterranean. Any letters that are sent to +him have to be directed to Messrs. Chatellon, Comeaux, and Co., +Marseilles, who forward them to him. I have already written to these +gentlemen, asking where he is; but when they sent their reply they did +not know. They stated, however, that on hearing from him they would let +me know. But to wait for an answer from these gentlemen would be too +great a trial for your patience. You cannot be satisfied, nor could I +unless something is being done. It would simply kill you to wait here, +day after day, week after week, month after month, for letters that +would never come. Nothing is so terrible. You must send some one. Now I +think that the best one you can send is myself, and I hope I speak +without vanity. No mere hireling can go on this service. The one who +goes should have different motives, and for my part I should feel the +search to have a personal interest, and should work for you as I would +for myself.” + +“Oh, Lieutenant Dudleigh,” said Edith, “there is no need for me to say +how I should feel about a search made by you. I refrain from expressions +of gratitude, since you forbid them; and so I do not know what to say.” + +“Say nothing, then, and--I do not like to say it, but I must--hope for +nothing. If you hope, you may be disappointed. If you do not hope, you +can not be. But in any case, whether you are disappointed or not, +remember this--that in spite of these musty lawyers, if the worst comes +to the worst you have one steadfast friend, and that if you say the word +I will force a way for you through those gates. If you ever feel +discouraged, remember that. It is a great preventive against despair to +know that you have an alternative of some kind. And now I will take my +departure, for the train will leave soon, and I must go at once.” + + * * * * * + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +THE SOURCES OF THE NILE. + +At length, after an absence of four or five weeks, Dudleigh returned. +Edith had tried hard not to hope, so as to be prepared for a +disappointment; but after all, in spite of her efforts, she could not +help hoping. She put great confidence in Dudleigh's energy and +perseverance, and thought that he would be able not only to find out +where Sir Lionel might be, but even to see him, and make him acquainted +with her situation. He had already done so much for her that it seemed +quite possible for him to do this. As the days passed by she found +herself looking forward to his return as the time of her certain +deliverance, until at length hope grew into confidence, and the idea of +disappointment was completely driven away. + +At last he came, and his first appearance put to flight all her hopes, +and filled her with a nameless terror. He looked dejected and weary. He +asked after her health, and whether she had been in any way molested; +after which Edith entreated him to tell her the worst. + +“For you bring bad news,” said she--“I see it in your face. Tell me the +worst.” + +Dudleigh mournfully shook his head. + +“You have not found him, then?” + +“No.” + +“But you must have heard something about him. He is at least alive, is +he not?” + +“I don't know even that.” + +“What! has any thing happened to him?” + +“Not that I know of. But he has started on a long and perilous +excursion; and whether he will ever return or not is more than I can +say.” + +“Then there is no hope,” said Edith, in a voice of despair. + +Dudleigh was silent for a time. + +“I will tell you all,” he replied at length. “When I left you I went at +once to Marseilles. I called on Sir Lionel's agents there, but found +that they had heard nothing from him whatever. They said that when he +last left that city he had gone to Turkey. I then set off for +Constantinople, and spent a week there, trying to find some traces of +him. At the British Embassy they said that he had only remained one day +in the city, and had then gone in his yacht, which he had brought with +him, on a cruise in the Black Sea. But whether he had returned or not no +one knew. At last I met with a merchant who knew him, and he told me +that he had returned and gone to Athens. I went to Athens, and found +that he had been there at one of the hotels, the landlord of which +informed me that he had spent three days there and had left for parts +unknown. I left letters at each of these places, and sent others to +Smyrna, Beyrout, Jaffa, and Alexandria. Then I returned to Marseilles. +There, to my surprise, I learned that, a few days after I left, they had +heard from Sir Lionel, who was in Alexandria, and about to start on the +maddest expedition that was ever heard of--a journey up the Nile, into +the inaccessible regions of Central Africa--to try to discover the +sources of that river. He simply announced to his agents that all his +preparations were completed, and that he would leave immediately. What +could I do then? I did the only thing there was to be done, and hurried +to Alexandria. Of course he had left the place before my letter reached +it; and I learned that from the rapid way in which he set out he must +already be far out of reach. Even then I would have gone after him, and +tracked him to the sources of the Nile themselves, if I had been able. +But I had no experience in travel of that kind. I couldn't manage a band +of Arabs, for I didn't know a word of their language, and of course I +could not stop to study it. That idea would have been absurd. Besides, +other reasons had weight with me, and so I came reluctantly back.” + +“Africa! the sources of the Nile!” exclaimed Edith, dolefully. “I can't +understand why he should have chosen those places.” + +“Well, it is no new idea. It is a thing that he has had in his mind for +years. I have heard him talk of it long ago. I remember hearing him, +once say that the only chance now remaining by which a man could gain +brilliant distinction was the discovery of the sources of the Nile. +Every other part of the world, he said, is known.” + +“How long should you think he might be absent on such a journey?” asked +Edith, anxiously. + +“How long? Ah! Miss Dalton, so long that it should not be thought of. +Years must elapse before he returns.” + +“Years!” + +“Yes--if he ever does return,” said Dudleigh, in a mournful voice. “With +him now the question is not, When will he return? but rather, Will he +ever return? It is, as you must know, a most desperate and hopeless +undertaking. For thousands of years men have tried that journey, and +failed.” + +“But may he not be baffled and turn back? There is some hope in that. +He will find out that it is impossible.” And Edith for a moment grasped +at that thought. + +“You will think me one of Job's comforters,” said Dudleigh, with a +melancholy smile. “But I think it is a poor mark of friendship to hide +the truth. It is better for you to know all now. The fact is, there +would be some hope of his return if he were any other than Sir Lionel +Dudleigh. But being what he is, he will follow his purpose to the end. +He is a man of unflinching courage and inflexible determination. More +than this, he announced to his friends before he left that he would +either bring back the truth about the sources of the Nile, or else he +would not come back at all. So now he has not only his resolution to +impel him, but his pride also.” + +“This hope, then, fails me utterly,” said Edith, after a long pause. + +“I fear so.” + +“He is, in fact, the same as dead.” + +“Yes, as far as you are concerned, and your present needs.” + +“This is terrible!” + +“Miss Dalton, I do not know what to say. I can only say that my heart +aches for you. I delayed on the road, because I could not bear to bring +this news to you. Then I wrote a letter, and thought of sending that, +but I feared you might not get it. I could not bear to see you in +sorrow.” + +“You, at least, Lieutenant Dudleigh,” said Edith, earnestly, “have acted +toward me like a true friend and a true gentleman. No one could have +done more. It is some consolation to know that every thing which was +possible has been done.” + +There was now a long pause. Each one was lost in thought. Edith's sad +face was turned toward Dudleigh, but she did not notice him. She was +wrapped in her own thoughts, and wondering how long she could endure the +life that now lay before her. + +“Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh at length, in a mournful voice, “I have to +leave at once to join my regiment, for my leave is up, and it may be +some time before I see you again.” + +He paused. + +Edith looked at him earnestly, fearful of what she thought might be +coming. Would it be a confession of love? How strong that love must be +which had prompted him to such devotion! And yet she could not return +it? Yet if he said any thing about it, what could she say? Could she +refuse one who had done so much, one who loved her so deeply, one who +was the only friend now left her? + +“It is heart-breaking to leave you here, Miss Dalton,” he continued, +“among unscrupulous enemies. When I am away I shall be distracted by a +thousand fears about you. How can you endure this life? And yet I might +do something to save you from it. My own life is at your disposal. Do +you wish to be free now? Will you have that gate opened, and fly?” + +Edith said not a word. She was filled with extreme agitation. Fly! Did +that mean to fly with him? to escape with a lover? and then--what? + +“If you wish to escape now, at this moment, Miss Dalton, all that you +have to do is to go out with me. I am armed. If there is any resistance, +I can force a way through. The first man that dares to bar the way +dies. As for me, if I fall, I shall ask nothing more.” + +And saying this, Dudleigh looked at Edith inquiringly. + +But Edith faltered. Her horror of bloodshed was great. Was her +situation so desperate that she could sacrifice a human life to gain her +freedom? Perhaps that life might be Dudleigh's. Could she risk the life +of the man who had done so much for her? She could not. No, after all, +she shrank from gaining her freedom at such a risk. + +Then, again, if she were free, where could she go? She knew now how +utterly forlorn she was. Miss Plympton was gone, and Sir Lionel was +gone. There were none left. She could not live without money, and all +her vast property was under the control of another. Dudleigh had said +nothing about love either: and she was grateful for his delicacy. Did +he intend in his deep devotion to support her himself, or what did he +intend? + +“You hesitate, Miss Dalton,” said he at last. “Have you your old fear +about bloodshed?” + +“I can not bear to risk such a sacrifice,” said Edith. + +“But one has a right to fly from slavery, and to destroy any one who +tries to prevent his escape.” + +“I can not,” said Edith. “The blood that might be shed would stain all +my life. Better to endure my misery as best I can. It must become far +worse before I can consent to any thing so terrible as the death of a +fellow-being.” + +“You may yet consent even to that, may you not?” + +“I don't know.” + +“Well, if you do, you have one on whom you can rely. At any rate, I do +not think there is any reason for you to fear downright cruelty here. +The law protects you from that, just as it protects a child. You are not +a captive in the hands of one of those old feudal barons whom we read +about. You are simply a ward under the control of a guardian--a thing +most odious to one like you, yet one which does not make you liable to +any physical evil. But this is poor comfort. I know that your position +will become more intolerable as time goes on; and, Miss Dalton, whenever +you can bear it no longer, remember that I am ready. Your only danger +would be if I should happen to be ordered out of England. But even then +I would order Barber to watch over you.” + +Edith sighed. Her future seemed dark indeed. The chance that Dudleigh +might be ordered to America or India filled her with new alarm. + +Dudleigh rose to go. + +“In six or eight weeks,” said he, “I hope to come again. I shall never +forget you, but day and night I shall be planning for your happiness.” + +He took her hand as he said this. Edith noticed that the hand which held +hers was as cold as ice. He raised her hand and pressed it to his lips. + +Soon after he left. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +A THREATENING LETTER. + +On the day after the departure of Dudleigh, Edith found a letter lying +on her table. It was addressed to her in that stiff, constrained hand +which she knew so well as belonging to that enemy of her life and of her +race--John Wiggins. With some curiosity as to the motive which he might +have in thus writing to her, she opened the letter, and read the +following: + +“DEAR MISS DALTON,--I feel myself incapable of sustaining another +interview with you, and I am therefore reduced to the necessity of +writing. + +“I have been deeply pained for a long time at the recklessness with +which you receive total strangers as visitors, and admit them to your +confidence. I have already warned you, but my warnings were received by +you in such a manner as to prevent my encountering another interview. + +“I write now to inform you that for your own sake, your own future, and +your own good name, it is my fixed intention to put a stop to these +interviews. This must be done, whatever may be the cost. You must +understand from this that there is nothing left for you but to obey. + +“If after this you allow these adventurers one single interview more, I +shall be under the unpleasant necessity of limiting your freedom to an +extent that may be painful to you, and even still more so to myself. + +“Yours, JOHN WIGGINS.” + +Edith read this letter over and over again, with many mingled feelings. +Wiggins had left her so much to herself of late that she had begun to +count upon his continued inaction, and supposed that he was too much +afraid of Dudleigh to interfere, or to make any opposition whatever to +his visits. Now, however, she saw that he had made up his mind to +action, and she fully believed that he was not the man who would make +any idle menace. + +The thing that offended Edith most in this letter was what she +considered its insolence. Its tone was that of a superior addressing an +inferior--a patron speaking to a dependent. At this all the stubborn +pride of Edith's nature was outraged, and rose in rebellion; but above +all was that pride stimulated by the word “obey.” + +She also saw in that letter the indications of an unpleasant development +of the policy of Wiggins, which would make her future darker than her +present was. Hitherto he had simply surrounded her with a barrier over +which she could not pass, admitting to her only those whom he wished, or +whom he could not keep away. But now she saw some approach made to a +more positive tyranny. There was a threat of limiting her freedom. +What that meant she could easily conjecture. Wiggins was evidently +dissatisfied with the liberty which she still had of walking over the +grounds. He now intended to confine her within the Hall--perhaps in her +own room. + +This showed her what she had to expect in the future. The steps of her +tyrant's progress would be gradual, but terrible. First, perhaps she +would be confined to the Hall, then to her own rooms, and finally +perhaps to some small chamber--some cell--where she would live a living +death as long as her jailer might allow her. + +In addition to this open show of tyranny, she also saw what seemed to +her the secret craft by which Wiggins had contrived an excuse for +further restraint. She considered Mowbray and Mrs. Mowbray as direct +agents of his. As for Dudleigh, she now though that Wiggins had not been +so much afraid of him as he had appeared to be, but had allowed him to +come so as to gain an excuse for further coercion. It was evident to +Edith that Dudleigh's transparent integrity of character and his ardent +espousal of her cause must be well known to Wiggins, and that he only +tolerated this visitor so as to gain a plausible pretext for putting her +under restraint. + +That letter threw an additional gloom over Edith's life, and lent a +fresh misery to her situation. The prospect before her now was dark +indeed. She was in a prison-house, where her imprisonment seemed +destined to grow closer and closer. There was no reason why Wiggins +should spare her at all. Having so successfully shut her within the +grounds for so long a time, he would now be able to carry out any mode +of confinement which might be desirable to him. She had heard of people +being confined in private mad-houses, through the conspiracy of +relatives who coveted their property. Thus far she had believed these +stories to be wholly imaginary, but now she began to believe them true. +Her own case had shown her the possibility of unjust and illegal +imprisonment, and she had not yet been able to find out any mode of +escape. This place seemed now to be her future prison-house, where her +imprisonment would grow from bad to worse, and where she herself, under +the terrible struggle of feeling to which she would be subject, might +finally sink into a state of madness. + +Such a prospect was terrible beyond words. It filled her with horror, +and she regarded her future with the most gloomy forebodings. In the +face of all this she had a sense of the most utter helplessness, and the +disappointments which she had thus far encountered only served to deepen +her dejection. + +In the midst of all this there was one hope for her, and one only. + +That solitary hope rested altogether on her friend Dudleigh. When he +last left her he had promised to come to her again in six or eight +weeks. This, then, was the only thing left, and to his return she looked +forward incessantly, with the most eager and impatient hope. + +To her it now seemed a matter of secondary importance what might be her +own feelings toward Dudleigh. She felt confident of his love toward her, +and in the abhorrence with which she recoiled from the terrible future +which Wiggins was planning for her she was able to contemplate +Dudleigh's passion with complacency. She did not love the little man, +but if he could save her from the horror that rose before her, she +resolved to shrink from no sacrifice of feeling, but grant him whatever +reward he might claim. + +Time passed. Six weeks were over, but there were no signs of Dudleigh. +The suspense of Edith now became terrible. She began to fear that +Wiggins had shut him out, and had refused to allow him to enter again. +If this were so, and if Dudleigh had submitted to such exclusion, then +all was indeed lost. But Edith would not yet believe it. She clung to +hope, and since he had said “six or eight weeks,” she thought that she +might wait the extreme limit mentioned by him before yielding to +despair. + +Eight weeks passed. + +On the day when those weeks had expired Edith found herself in a fever +of suspense, devoured by the most intolerable impatience, with all her +thoughts and feelings now centred upon Dudleigh, and her last hope fixed +upon him only. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +THE PROPOSAL. + +Eight weeks passed. + +Edith's impatience was uncontrollable. Thus far she had passed most of +the time in her own room; but now the confinement was more than she +could endure. She went out into the grounds, where she wandered day +after day, watching and listening, restlessly and feverishly, for the +approach of her friend. At length one day, as she was walking down the +avenue, a well-known figure came up advancing toward her, at sight of +which a thrill of joy passed through her. It was he. At last Little +Dudleigh! + +In her great joy she did not seek to conceal her feelings, or to +maintain that reserve which thus far she had manifested in her +interviews with him. All this was thrown aside. Here stood at last her +one true friend, the one whose loss she had lamented, whose return she +had looked for so eagerly; the one friend coming to her through the +enemies who intervened. With a rapid step she advanced toward him. She +held out her hands, and pressed his warmly. Her lips quivered, tears +started to her eyes, but she did not speak. + +“I am back again, Miss Dalton,” said Little Dudleigh, joyously. “But how +changed you are! You have suffered. I see it in your face. What is the +matter? Has any thing new happened? Has that villain dared to offer +insult? Ah, why was I not here before? But I could not come. I came as +soon as I could.” + +Edith murmured a few words in reply, and then they walked together at a +slow pace along the avenue. Edith did not care to go back to the Hall, +where all was so gloomy, but preferred the fresh pure air, and the +cheering face of nature. + +As they walked on together Edith recounted the events of her life since +she had last seen him. Now all her long pent-up feelings burst forth +without restraint. At last she had some one to whom she could confide +her sorrows, and she found it sweet to talk to one whom she knew to be +so full of sympathy. To all this Dudleigh listened with the profoundest +attention, and with visible agitation. + +In all that she said and in all her manner Edith freely expressed the +joy that she felt at once more meeting with a friend so tried, so true, +so valued, in whom she could trust so implicitly, and from whom she +could find sympathy. She had struggled so long in silence and in +loneliness that Dudleigh's sympathy seemed doubly sweet. + +When she ceased a long silence followed. Dudleigh's agitation still +continued. Several times he looked at her wistfully, inquiringly, +doubtfully, as if about to speak, and each time he hesitated. But at +last, with a strong effort, he spoke. + +“I must say it, Miss Dalton,” said he. “I am compelled to. I came here +this day--for the sole purpose of saying--something which--you--may be +unwilling to hear. I have hesitated long, and staid away longer on this +account, yet I must say it now. You are in a fearful position, Miss +Dalton. You are in the power of an unprincipled and a desperate man. I +feel for you most deeply. You are always in my thoughts. In order to +assist you I have done all that I could. I do not wish to make any +allusions to what I have done, but rather to what I have felt, and shall +feel. You have become very dear to me. I know I am not worthy of you. +You are above me. I am only a humble lieutenant; you are the lady of +Dalton Hall; but I can not bear to--to go away and leave one whom I love +in the power of a villain. Dare I offer you my protection? Will it be +too much to ask you to be mine? I do not hope that you can look upon me +just yet with any such feelings as love, but I see that you treat me as +a friend, and you have honored me with your confidence. I have never +said any thing about my love to you, but perhaps you have not been +altogether without suspicion about it. Had I found Sir Lionel, or had I +thought that he was at all accessible, I would never have made my humble +confession until you were in a different position. I am ashamed to make +it now, for though I know that you would not suspect me of any thing +base, yet it looks as if I were taking advantage of your necessities. +But I know that to a mind like yours such a suspicion would never come; +and I am comforted by the thought that if you do listen to my request it +will lead, to your safety. I think, too, that if it were possible for +you to consent, even if you felt no very tender sentiment toward me, you +would have from me a devotion such as few others are capable of feeling. +Under such circumstances you might not be altogether unhappy.” + +All this Dudleigh had spoken with feverish rapidity, and with every sign +of the strongest agitation, occasionally stopping, and then resuming his +remarks in a headlong way. But if he had felt agitation, Edith had felt +at least quite as much. At the first mention of his proposal her head +sank forward, and she looked fixedly upon the ground with downcast eyes, +while her tears fell abundantly. She said nothing. Dudleigh in his +frequent pauses seemed to expect that she would say something, but she +did not. + +Edith's feelings were of the most distressing kind. She had, of course, +anticipated something like this, but had never yet been able to decide +what she should do in the event of such a confession. She did not love +him. Her feelings toward him were of a totally different kind. It seemed +to her that such a feeling as love could never by any possibility be +felt by her for him. And yet she had a very strong regard for him. His +society was very pleasant to her. She would have done much and +sacrificed much for his sake. But to be his wife, that was a thing which +seemed odious. + +Yet what could she do! Her position was intolerable and full of peril. +If she were his wife, in one moment she would be safe, free, and under +the protection of one who loved her with utter devotion. True, she had +no such sentiment toward him as a wife should have for a husband, but he +himself was aware of that, and in spite of that was willing, nay, eager, +to take her. She was touched to the heart by his self-depreciation and +profound respect. + +Then, again, she thought, ought not he himself to be considered? Had he +no claims? He had given himself up to her; he had done much for her. He +had offered again and again to give up his life for her. Ought not such +rare devotion to meet with some reward? And what reward could she ever +give? There was only one which he wanted--herself. Could she refuse him +that? + +Dudleigh said not another word, and in that long and most embarrassing +silence he looked away so as not to add to her confusion. Edith did not +know what to do or say. Could she refuse him? Then how ungrateful she +would be to her best friend! But if he should leave her? What then? A +life of despair! The complete triumph of Wiggins. A living death. + +Was it at all singular that she recoiled from such an alternative? She +could not endure this captivity any longer. And was it, then, so +dreadful to give herself to the man who adored her? No. If she did not +love him, she at least had a strong friendship, and this in time might +change to love. She had a greater regard for him than for any other +man. Distasteful? It was. Yes. But it was far better than this +imprisonment. She must take him as her husband, or lose him forever. He +could do no more for her unless she became his wife. He could only save +her by marrying her. + +She was touched by his present attitude. He was waiting so patiently, +so humbly. She saw his deep agitation. + +Suddenly, by a quick movement, she turned toward him and held out her +hand. Dudleigh took it, and for a moment each gazed into the other's +eyes, regardless of observation. Dudleigh's face was deathly pale, and +his hand as cold as ice. + +“Oh, my friend,” said Edith, in a low, hesitating voice, “what can I say +to you? I can not give you love. I have no such feeling, but I feel +deep gratitude. I know your worth. You have done so much, and I wish I +could feel different. If you take me as I am, I--I--I am--yours. But I +am not worthy. No, I am not--not worthy of such devotion. You love me, +but I do not love you. What can I do? Yet in spite of this, if you ask +me, I am--yours.” + +Edith spoke with downcast eyes and deep embarrassment and frequent +hesitation. Her last words died away almost into a whisper. But the +agitation of Dudleigh was now even greater than her own. A change came +over him that was terrible to witness. As he took her hand he trembled, +almost convulsively, from head to foot. His face became ghastly white, +he pressed his hand against his heart, his breathing was thick and +oppressed, big drops of perspiration started forth upon his brow, and at +last, to Edith's amazement, he burst into tears, and sobbed aloud. Then +he dropped her hand, and turned away, murmuring some inarticulate words. + +At this Edith's confusion passed away, and changed to wonder. What was +the meaning of this? Tears and sobs--and from a man! But the thought at +once occurred that this was his sensitiveness, and that it arose from +her telling him so plainly that she did not love him. “I can not love +him, and he knows it,” she thought, “and it breaks his heart, poor +fellow! How I wish I could console him!” + +Suddenly Dudleigh dashed his hand across his eyes, and walked swiftly +onward. Edith followed as fast as she could, keeping him in sight, but +falling farther and farther behind. At length he turned and came back +to meet her. His eyes were downcast, and there was misery unspeakable on +his white face. As he came up to her he held out his hand, and looked at +her with a strange, woful gaze. + +Edith took the hand which he held out. + +“Miss Dalton,” said he, “you said you would be mine.” + +[Illustration: “THEN HE DROPPED HER HAND, AND TURNED AWAY.”] + +Edith's lips moved, but no sound escaped them. + +“All that you have said, Miss Dalton,” he continued, “I feel most +deeply, most keenly; but how else could it have been? Yet if you will +indeed be mine, I will give you my love and gratitude. I will save you +from--from danger; I will--will--bless you.” He stopped, and looked at +her with quivering lips, while an expression of agony came across his +face. + +But Edith's eyes were downcast now, and she did not see this new anguish +of his; her own distress was too great. + +Dudleigh dropped her hand again. + +“Where shall it be?” said he, hurriedly and nervously. “It can not be in +the Hall. Will you venture to pass the gates with me?--I will force my +way through--or are you afraid?” + +“I can not consent to bloodshed,” said Edith. + +“I thought of that,” said Dudleigh, “and I have one more plan--if you +will only consent. It is not much to you who have suffered so much. It +will make your way to freedom easy. Can we not meet in the park +somewhere--in some secluded place?” + +“In the park?” repeated Edith, abstractedly. + +“I can bring a clergyman inside,” said Dudleigh, in a low voice. + +Edith shuddered. The idea was not yet less repugnant than it had been. +But she had consented, and here was this man--her only friend, her +adorer--with all his love and devotion. If she did not love him, she +must pity him. She had also given her word. As to the way in which this +promise might be carried out, it was a matter of indifference. At any +rate, she would escape from her hateful prison. And what mattered it +how, or where, or when the ceremony might be performed? + +“Oh, Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh, “forgive me! forgive me! I must go +away in two days. Could you consent to let this be--tomorrow?” + +Edith made no reply. She trembled. Her head sank down lower. + +“There is one place,” said Dudleigh, and then hesitated. Edith said +nothing. There was anguish in her face and in her heart. + +“The chapel--” + +“The chapel,” she repeated, dreamily. + +“It is hidden among the trees. Do you know it? It is away from all +observation.” + +Edith bowed her head. She knew it well. It was off the main avenue--not +far away from the Hall. + +“Can you get out of the house after dark?” said Dudleigh, in a feverish +whisper. “It must be after dark, and we must be unobserved. For if +Wiggins were to see us he would come as your guardian, and take you +back, and shut you up--perhaps for life.” + +This suggestion about Wiggins chimed in with Edith's own fears. It made +her desperate. The marriage seemed less abhorrent; it was eclipsed by +the horrors of imprisonment for life. Discovery now--after that last +threat of his--would bring a closer restraint, stricter imprisonment, +the loss of all hope. + +“I can get out,” she said, hurriedly. + +“Where shall I find you?” + +“There is a private door at the east end--” + +“I know the door.” + +“I can get out through that. No one will think of my leaving the Hall +after dark.” + +“I will meet you there.” + +Edith sighed heavily. + +“To-morrow evening,” said Dudleigh, “at ten o'clock. It will be dark +then. Will you meet me?” + +“I will,” said Edith, calmly. + +“I shall only hope, then,” said he, “that no new restraint may be +imposed upon you to prevent your coming. And now I will go--to meet you +to-morrow.” + +He seized her hand in his icy grasp, wrung it convulsively, and bowing +with his pallid face, walked quickly away. + +There was a weight on Edith's heart; but in spite of this, Dudleigh's +last look, his agitated manner, and his deep love filled her with pity, +and made her anxious to carry out her act of self-sacrifice for so dear +and so true a friend. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +A MARRIAGE IN THE DARK. + +The chapel referred to was a sombre edifice over the graves of the +Daltons. Beneath it were the vaults where reposed the remains of Edith's +ancestors. The chapel was used for the celebration of burial rites. It +was in this place that the marriage was to take place. Edith, in her +gloom, thought the place an appropriate one. Let the marriage be there, +she thought--in that place where never anything but burials has been +known before. Could she have changed the one service into the other, she +would have done so. + +And yet she would not go back, for it was the least of two evils. The +other alternative was captivity under the iron hand of Wiggins--Wiggins +the adventurer, the forger, the betrayer of her father, whose power over +herself was a perpetual insult to that father's memory--a thing +intolerable, a thing of horror. Why should she not give herself to the +man who loved her, even if her own love was wanting, when such an act +would free her from so accursed a tyranny? + +[Illustration: “SHE SAW THROUGH THE GLOOM A FIGURE”] + +Agitated and excited, she lingered through the hours of the day after +parting with Dudleigh. Night came, but brought no rest; and the +following day dawned, and the irrevocable hour drew nigh. That day was +one filled with strange fears, chief among which was the thought that +Wiggins might discover all, or suspect it, and arrest her flight. But +time passed, and evening came, and Wiggins had done nothing. + +All was still. The house was always still, and surrounded her--a vast +solitude. Mrs. Dunbar was in her own room: it was always her habit to +retire early. Wiggins was far away, at the west end of the Hall. Hugo +was in his remote quarters in the attic. The vigilance which her keepers +maintained by day was relaxed at night, for they never suspected her of +any design of leaving the house after dark. Her interview with Dudleigh +must have been seen and reported, but no action that she was aware of +had been taken. Perhaps Wiggins was waiting for him to make another +call, when he would step forth and formally lock her up in her room. + +And now, as Edith prepared to carry her plan into execution, there was +nothing all around but the most profound stillness. Underneath the +story on which her room was there extended a hall, at the east end of +which there was a private stairway leading down to a small door which +opened out into the park. Leaving her room noiselessly, she descended to +the lower hall, traversed it, and descended the stairway to the door. It +was secured by a bolt only. This she drew back as noiselessly as +possible--not, however, without an unpleasantly loud grating sound. The +door opened without much difficulty. She passed through it. She shut it +after her. Then she turned to step down upon the grass. She saw through +the gloom a figure. She recognized it. It was Dudleigh. + +He held out his hand and took hers. As before, his hand was icy cold, +and he trembled violently, but Edith also was trembling with excitement +and agitation, and was therefore too much taken up with her own feelings +to notice those of others. Dudleigh did not say a word, but started off +at once, leading her by the hand. + +Now that she had gone thus far, the act seemed too terrible to be +endured, and she would have give any thing to go back. There came over +her a frightful feeling of apprehension--a deep, dark horror, +unutterable, intolerable. But it was now too late--she had to go on. And +on she went, clinging to Dudleigh, who himself showed an agitation equal +to hers. Thus they walked on in silence. Each might have heard the +strong throbbing of the other's heart, had not the excitement of each +been so overwhelming. In this way they went on, trembling, +horror-stricken, till at length they reached the chapel. + +It was a dark and sombre edifice, in the Egyptian style, now darker and +more sombre in the gloom of evening and the shadows of surrounding +trees. The door was open. As they entered, two figures advanced from the +shadows of the trees. One of these wore a white surplice; the other was +undistinguishable in the gloom, save that his stature was that of a +tall, large man. + +“The clergyman and the--witness,” said Dudleigh, in a tremulous whisper. + +As these two entered, one of them closed the door. The dull creaking of +the hinges grated harshly on Edith's ears, and struck fresh horror to +her heart. She faltered and trembled. She sank back. + +“Oh, I can not, I can not!” she moaned. + +“Courage, dear one; it will soon be over,” whispered Dudleigh, in an +agitated voice. + +Edith made a violent effort to regain her composure. But she felt +helpless. Her senses seemed leaving her; her heart throbbed still more +painfully; her brain whirled. She clung to Dudleigh. But as she clung to +him she felt that he trembled as violently as she herself did. This made +her feel calmer. She pitied him. Poor fellow, she thought, he sees my +agitation. He thinks I hate him. He is broken-hearted. I must be calmer +for his sake. + +“Where are the lights?” asked the clergyman. + +“Lights?” repeated Dudleigh. + +“Yes.” + +“Well, it won't do to have lights,” said he, in the same agitated voice. +“I--I explained all that. The light will show through the window. We +must go down into the vaults.” + +Outside, it was very obscure; inside, it was quite dark. Edit could see +the outline of a large window and the white sheen of the clergyman's +surplice; nothing more was visible. + +The clergyman stood waiting. Dudleigh went to the witness and conversed +with him in a low whisper. + +“The witness,” said Dudleigh, as he came back, “forgot to bring lights. +I have none. Have you any?” + +“Lights?--no,” said the clergyman. + +“What shall we do?” + +“I don't know.” + +“We can't go down into the vaults.” + +“I should say,” remarked the clergyman, “that since we have no lights, +it is far better for us to remain where we are.” + +“But we may be overheard.” + +“I shall speak low.” + +“Isn't it a little too dark here?” asked Dudleigh, tremulously. + +“It certainly is rather dark,” said the clergyman, “but I suppose it +can't be helped, and it need not make any difference. There is a witness +who has seen the parties, and as you say secrecy is needed, why, this +darkness may be all the more favorable. But it is no concern of mine. +Only I should think it equally safe, and a great deal pleasanter, to +have the ceremony here than down in the vaults.” + +All this had been spoken in a quick low tone, so as to guard against +being overheard. During this scene Edith had stood trembling, half +fainting, with a kind of blank despair in her soul, and scarcely any +consciousness of what was going on. + +The witness, who had entered last, moved slowly and carefully about, and +walked up to where he could see the figure of Edith faintly defined +against the white sheen of the clergyman's surplice. He stood at her +right hand. + +“Begin,” said Dudleigh; and then he said, “Miss Dalton, where are you?” + +She said nothing. She could not speak. + +“Miss Dalton,” said he again. + +She tried to speak, but it ended in a moan. + +Dudleigh seemed to distinguish her now, for he went toward her, and the +next moment she felt the bridegroom at her side. + +A shudder passed through Edith. She could think of nothing but the +horror of her situation. And yet she did not think of retreating. No. +Her plighted word had been given, and the dark terror of Wiggins made it +still more impossible. Yet so deep was her agitation that there was +scarce any thought on her mind at all. + +And now the clergyman began the marriage service. He could not use his +book, of course, but he knew the service by heart, and went on fluently +enough, omitting here and there an unimportant part, and speaking in a +low voice, but very rapidly. Edith scarcely understood a word. + +Then the clergyman said: + +“Leon, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together +after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love +her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and +forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall +live?” + +The bridegroom answered, in a whisper, + +“I will.” + +“Edith, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together +after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey +him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; +and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both +shall live?” + +Edith tried to say “I will,” but only an unintelligible sound escaped +her. + +Then the clergyman went on, while the bridegroom repeated in a whisper +these words: + +“I, Leon, take thee, Edith, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from +this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in +sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, +according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.” + +The clergyman then said the words for Edith, but she could not repeat +the formula after him. Here and there she uttered a word or two in a +disjointed way, but that was all. + +Then Edith felt her hand taken and a ring put on her finger. + +Then the clergyman said the next formula, which the bridegroom repeated +after him in a whisper as before: + +“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my +worldly goods I thee endow,” etc., etc. + +Then followed a prayer, after which the clergy man, joining their right +hands together, said, + +“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” + +Then followed the remainder of the service, and at its conclusion the +clergyman solemnly wished them every happiness. + +“I suppose I may go now,” said he; and as there was no answer, he groped +his way to the door, flung it open, and took his departure. + +During all this service Edith had been in a condition verging upon half +unconsciousness. The low murmur of voices, the hurried words of the +clergyman, the whispers of the bridegroom, were all confused together in +an unintelligible whole, and even her own answers had scarce made any +impression upon her. Her head seemed to spin, her brain to whirl, and +all her frame to sink away. At length the grating of the opening door, +the clergyman's departing footsteps, and the slight increase of light +roused her. + +She was married! + +Where was her husband? + +This thought came to her with a new horror. Deep silence had followed +the clergyman's departure. She in her weakness was not noticed. +Dudleigh, the loving, the devoted, had no love or devotion for her now. +Where was he? The silence was terrible. + +But at last that silence was broken--fearfully. + +“Come,” said a voice which thrilled the inmost soul of Edith with horror +unspeakable: “I'm tired of humbugging. I'm going home. Come along, Mrs. +Dudleigh.” + +The horror that passed through Edith at the sound of this voice for a +moment seemed to paralyze her. She turned to where the voice sounded. It +was the man beside her who spoke--the bridegroom! He was not +Dudleigh--not Little Dudleigh! He was tall and large. It was the +witness. What frightful mockery was this? But the confusion of thought +that arose was rudely interrupted. A strong hand was laid upon hers, +and again that voice spoke: + +“Come along, Mrs. Dudleigh!” + +“What is--this?” gasped Edith. + +“Why, you're married, that's all. You ought to know that by this time.” + +“Away!” cried Edith, with a sharp cry. “Who are you? Dudleigh! +Dudleigh! where are you? Will you not help me?” + +“That's not very likely,” said the same voice, in a mocking tone. “His +business is to help _me_.” + +“Oh, my God! what is the meaning of this?” + +“Oh, it's simple enough. It means that you're my wife.” + +“_Your_ wife! Oh, Dudleigh: oh, my friend! what does all this +mean? Why do you not speak?” + +But Dudleigh said nothing. + +“I have no objections to explaining,” said the voice. “You're actually +married to me. My name is not Mowbray. It's Leon Dudleigh, the +individual that you just plighted your troth to. My small friend here is +not _Leon_ Dudleigh, whatever other Dudleigh he may call himself. +He is the witness.” + +“It's false!” cried Edith. “Lieutenant Dudleigh would never betray me.” + +“Well, at any rate,” said Leon, “I happen to be the happy man who alone +can claim you as his bride.” + +“Villain!” shrieked Edith, in utter horror. “Cursed villain! Let go my +hand. This is all mockery. Your wife!--I would die first.” + +“Indeed you won't,” said Leon--“not while you have me to love and to +cherish you, in sickness and in health, till death us do part, and +forsaking all others, keep only unto you, in the beautiful words of that +interesting service.” + +“It's a lie! it's a lie!” cried Edith. “Oh, Lieutenant Dudleigh, I have +trusted you implicitly, and I trust you yet. Come to me--save me!” + +And in her anguish Edith sank down upon her knees, and held out her arms +imploringly. + +“Dudleigh!” she moaned. “Oh, my friend! Oh, only come--only save me from +this villain, and I will love--I will love and bless you--I will be your +menial--I will--” + +“Pooh!” said Leon, “I'm the only Dudleigh about. If you knew half as +much about my _dear friend_ the lieutenant as I do, you would know +what infernal nonsense you are talking;” and seizing her hand, he tried +to raise her. “Come,” said he, “up with you.” + +Edith tried to loosen her hand, whereupon Leon dashed it away. + +“Who wants your hand?” he cried: “I'm your husband, not your lover.” + +“Lieutenant Dudleigh!” moaned Edith. + +“Well, lieutenant,” said Leon, “speak up. Come along. Tell her, if you +like.” + +“Lieutenant Dudleigh, save me.” + +“Oh, great Heaven!” said a voice like that of the one whom Edith knew as +Lieutenant Dudleigh--“oh, great Heaven! it's too much.” + +“Oh ho!” cried Leon: “so you're going to blubber too, are you? Mind, +now, it's all right if you are only true.” + +“Oh, Leon, how you wring my heart!” cried the other, in a low, tremulous +voice. + +“Lieutenant Dudleigh!” cried Edith again. “Oh, my friend, answer me! +Tell me that it is all a lie. Tell me--” + +But Lieutenant Dudleigh flung himself on the stone pavement, and groaned +and sobbed convulsively. + +“Come,” said Leon, stooping and lifting him up; “you understand all +this. Don't you go on blubbering in this fashion. I don't mind her and +_you_ mustn't. Come, you tell her, for she'll keep yelling after +you all night till you do.” + +Lieutenant Dudleigh rose at this, and leaned heavily upon Leon's arm. + +“You were not--married--to--to--me,” said he at last. + +“What! Then you too were false all along!” said Edith, in a voice that +seemed to come from a broken heart. + +The false friend made no reply. + +“Well, Mrs. Dudleigh,” said Leon, coolly, “for your information I will +simply state that the--ahem--lieutenant here is my very particular +friend--in fact, my most intimate and most valued friend--and in his +tender affection for me he undertook this little affair at my +instigation. It's all my act, all through, every bit of it, but the +carrying out of the details was--ahem--his. The marriage, however, is +perfectly valid. The banns were published all right. So you may feel +quite at ease.” + +“Oh,” cried Edith, “how basely, how terribly, I have been deceived! And +it is all lies! It was all lies, lies, lies from the beginning!” + +Suddenly a fierce thrill of indignation flashed through her. She started +to her feet. + +“It is all a lie from beginning to end!” she exclaimed, in a voice which +was totally changed from that wail of despair which had been heard once +before. It was a firm, proud, stern voice. She had fallen back upon her +own lofty soul, and had sought refuge in that resolute nature of hers +which had sustained her before this in other dire emergencies. “Yes,” + she said, sternly, “a lie; and this mock-marriage is a lie. Villains, +stand off. I am going home.” + +“Not without me,” said Leon, who for a moment stood silent, amazed at +the change in Edith's voice and manner. “You must not leave your +husband.” + +“You shall not come to Dalton Hall,” said Edith. + +“I shall not? Who can keep me out?” + +“Wiggins,” said Edith. “I will ask his protection against you.” + +“Wiggins!” sneered Leon. “Let him try it if he dares.” + +“Do not interfere with me,” said Edith, “nor touch me.” + +“You shall not go without me.” + +“I shall go, and alone.” + +“You shall not.” + +Edith at once walked to the door. Just as she reached it Leon seized her +arm. She struggled for a moment to get free, but in vain. + +“I know,” said she, bitterly, “what a coward you are. This is not the +first time that you have laid hands on me. Let me go now, or you shall +repent.” + +“Not the first time, and it won't be the last time!” cried Leon, with an +oath. + +“Let me go,” cried Edith, in a fierce voice, “or I will stab you to the +heart!” + +As she said this she raised her right hand swiftly and menacingly, and +by the dim light of the doorway Leon plainly saw a long keen dagger. In +an instant he recoiled from the sight, and dropping her arm, he started +back. + +“Curse you!” he cried, in an excited voice; “who wants to touch you! It +isn't you I've married, but the Hall!” + +“Leon,” cried Lieutenant Dudleigh, “I will allow no violence. If there +is any more, I will betray you.” + +“You!” cried Leon, with a bitter sneer. “Pooh, you dare not.” + +“I dare.” + +“You will betray yourself, then.” + +“I don't care. After what I've suffered for you these two days past, and +especially this night, I have but little care left about myself.” + +“But won't you get your reward, curse it +all!” + +“There can be no reward for me now, after this,” said the other, in a +mournful voice. + +“Is that the way you talk to _me_!” said Leon, in a tone of +surprise. + +“Miss Dalton has been wronged enough,” said the other. “If you dare to +annoy her further, or to harm a hair of her head, I solemnly declare +that I will turn against you.” + +“You!” exclaimed Leon. + +“Yes, I.” + +“Why, you're as bad as I am--in fact, worse.” + +“Well, at any rate, it shall go no further. That I am resolved on.” + +“Look out,” cried Leon; “don't tempt me too far. I'll remember this, by +Heaven! I'll not forget that you have threatened to betray me.” + +“I don't care. You are a coward, Leon, and you know it. You are afraid +of that brave girl. Miss Dalton can take care of herself.” + +“Miss Dalton! Pooh!--Mrs. Dudleigh, you mean.” + +“Leon, you drive me to frenzy,” cried Lieutenant Dudleigh, in a wild, +impatient voice. + +“And you--what are you!” cried Leon, morosely. “Are you not always +tormenting me? Do you think that I'm going to stand you and your whims +forever? Look out! This is more of a marriage than you think.” + +“Marriage!” cried the other, in a voice of scorn. + +“Never mind. I'll go with my wife,” said Leon. + +Edith had waited a few moments as this altercation arose, half hoping +that in the quarrel between these two something might escape them which +could give her some ray of hope, but she heard nothing of that kind. +Yet as she listened to the voices of the two, contrasting so strangely +in their tones, and to their language, which was so very peculiar, a +strange suspicion came to her mind. + +Then she hurried away back to the Hall. + +“I'll go with my wife,” said Leon. + +“Coward and villain!” cried his companion. “Miss Dalton has a dagger. +You're afraid of her. I'll go too, so that you may not annoy her.” + +Edith hurried away, and the others followed for a short distance, but +she soon left them behind. She reached the little door at the east end. +She passed through, and bolted it on the inner side. She hurried up to +her rooms, and on reaching them fell fainting to the floor. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +THE WIFE OF LEON DUDLEIGH. + +Sickness and delirium came mercifully to Edith; for if health had +continued, the sanity of the body would have been purchased at the +expense of that of the mind. Mrs. Dunbar nursed her most tenderly and +assiduously. A doctor attended her. For long weeks she lay in a +brain-fever, between life and death. In the delirium that disturbed her +brain, her mind wandered back to the happy days at Plympton Terrace. +Once more she played about the beautiful shores of Derwentwater; once +more she rambled with her school-mates under the lofty trees, or rode +along through winding avenues. At time, however, her thoughts reverted +to the later events of her life; and once or twice to that time of +horror in the chapel. + +The doctor came and went, and satisfied himself with seeing after the +things that conduced to the recovery of his patient. He was from London, +and had been sent for by Wiggins, who had no confidence in the local +physicians. At length the disease was quelled, and after nearly two +months Edith began to be conscious of her situation. She came back to +sensibility with feelings of despair, and her deep agitation of soul +retarded her recovery very greatly; for her thoughts were fierce and +indignant, and she occupied herself, as soon as she could think, with +incessant plans for escape. At last she resolved to tell the doctor all. +One day when he came she began, but, unfortunately for her, before she +had spoken a dozen words she became so excited she almost fainted. +Thereupon the doctor very properly forbade her talking about any of her +affairs whatever until she was better. “Your friends,” said he, “have +cautioned me against this, and I have two things to regard--their wishes +and your recovery.” Once or twice after this Edith tried to speak about +her situation, but the doctor promptly checked her. Soon after he ceased +his visits. + +In spite of all drawbacks, however, she gradually recovered, and at last +became able to move about the room. She might even have gone out if she +had wished, but she did not feel inclined. + +One day, while looking over some of her books which were lying on her +table, she found a newspaper folded inside one of them. She took it and +opened it carelessly, wondering what might be going on in that outside +world of which she had known so little for so long a time. A mark along +the margin attracted her attention. It was near the marriage notices. +She looked there, and saw the following: + +“On the 12th instant, at the Dalton family chapel, by the Rev. John +Mann, of Dalton, Captain Leon Dudleigh, to Edith, only daughter of the +late Frederick Dalton, Enquire, of Dalton Hall.” + +This paper was dated November 20, 1840. This was, as she knew, February +26, 1841. + +The horror that passed through her at the sight of this was only +inferior to that which she had felt on the eventful evening itself. +Hitherto in all her gloom and grief she had regarded it as a mere +mockery--a brutal kind of practical joke, devised out of pure malignity, +and perhaps instigated or connived at by Wiggins. She had never cared to +think much about it. But now, on being thus confronted with a formal +notice in a public newspaper, the whole affair suddenly assumed a new +character--a character which was at once terrible in itself, and +menacing to her whole future. This formal notice seemed to her like the +seal of the law on that most miserable affair; and she asked herself in +dismay if such a ceremony could be held as binding. + +She had thought much already over one thing which had been revealed on +that eventful evening. The name Mowbray was an assumed one. The villain +who had taken it now called himself Leon Dudleigh. Under that name he +married her, and under that name his marriage was published. His friend +and her betrayer--that most miserable scoundrel who had called himself +Lieutenant Dudleigh--had gained her consent to this marriage for the +express purpose of betraying her into the hands of her worst enemy. His +name might or might not be Dudleigh, but she now saw that the true name +of the other must be Dudleigh, and that Mowbray had been assumed for +some other purpose. But how he came by such a name she could not tell. +She had no knowledge whatever of Sir Lionel; and whether Leon was any +relation to him or not she was totally ignorant. + +This gave a new and most painful turn to all her thoughts, and she began +to feel anxious to know what had occurred since that evening. +Accordingly, on Mrs. Dunbar's return to her room, she began to question +her. Thus far she had said but little to this woman, whom for so long a +time she had regarded with suspicion and aversion. Mrs. Dunbar's long +and anxious care of her, her constant watchfulness, her eager inquiries +after her health--all availed nothing, since all seemed to be nothing +more than the selfish anxiety of a jailer about the health of a prisoner +whose life it may be his interest to guard. + +“Who sent this?” asked Edith, sternly, pointing to the paper. + +Mrs. Dunbar hesitated, and after one hasty glance at Edith her eyes +sought the floor. + +“The captain,” said she at length. + +“The captain?--what captain?” asked Edith. + +“Captain--Dudleigh,” said Mrs. Dunbar, with the same hesitation. + +Edith paused. This confirmed her suspicions as to his true name. “Where +is he now?” she asked at length. + +“I do not know,” said Mrs. Dunbar, “where he is--just now.” + +“Has he ever been here?” asked Edith, after another pause. + +“Ever been here!” repeated Mrs. Dunbar, looking again at Edith with +something like surprise. “Why, he lives here--now. I thought you knew +that.” + +“Lives here!” exclaimed Edith. + +“Yes.” + +Edith was silent. This was very unpleasant intelligence. Evidently this +Leon Dudleigh and Wiggins were partners in this horrible matter. + +“How does he happen to live here?” she asked at length, anxious to +discover, if possible, his purpose. + +Mrs. Dunbar again hesitated. Edith had to repeat her question, and even +then her answer was given with evident reluctance. + +“He says that you--I mean that he--is your--that is, that he is--is +master,” said Mrs. Dunbar, in a hesitating and confused way. + +“Master!” repeated Edith. + +“He says that he is your--your--” Mrs. Dunbar hesitated and looked +anxiously at Edith. + +“Well, what does he say?” asked Edith, impatiently. “He says that he is +my--what?” + +“Your--your husband,” said Mrs. Dunbar, with a great effort. + +At this Edith stared at her for a moment, and then covered her face with +her hands, while a shudder passed through her. This plain statement of +the case from one of her jailers made her situation seem worse than +ever. + +“He came here,” continued Mrs. Dunbar, in a low tone, “the day after +your illness. He brought his horse and dog, and some--things.” + +Edith looked up with a face of agony. + +“He said,” continued Mrs. Dunbar, “that you were--married--to--him; that +you were now his--his wife, and that he intended to live at the Hall.” + +“Is that other one here too?” asked Edith, after a long silence. + +“What other one?” + +“The smaller villain--the one that used to call himself Lieutenant +Dudleigh.” + +Mrs. Dunbar shook her head. + +“Do you know the real name of that person?” + +“No.” + +Edith now said nothing for a long time; and as she sat there, buried in +her own miserable thoughts, Mrs. Dunbar looked at her with a face full +of sad and earnest sympathy--a face which had a certain longing, wistful +expression, as though she yearned over this stricken heart, and longed +to offer some consolation. But Edith, even if she had been willing to +receive any expressions of sympathy from one like Mrs. Dunbar, whom she +regarded as a miserable tool of her oppressor, or a base ally, was too +far down in the depths of her own profound affliction to be capable of +consolation. Bad enough it was already, when she had to look back over +so long a course of deceit and betrayal at the hands of one whom she had +regarded as her best friend; but now to find that all this treachery had +culminated in a horror like this, that she was claimed and proclaimed by +an outrageous villain as his wife--this was beyond all endurance. The +blackness of that perfidy, and the terror of her memories, which till +now had wrung her heart, fled away, and gave place to the most +passionate indignation. + +And now, at the impulse of these more fervid feelings, her whole +outraged nature underwent a change. Till now she had felt most strongly +the emotions of grief and melancholy; now, however, these passed away, +and were succeeded by an intensity of hate, a vehemence of wrath, and a +hot glow of indignant passion that swept away all other feelings. All +the pride of her haughty spirit was roused; her soul became instinct +with a desperate resolve; and mingling with these feelings there was a +scorn for her enemies as beings of a baser nature, and a stubborn +determination to fight them all till the bitter end. + +All this change was manifest in her look and tone as she again addressed +Mrs. Dunbar. + +“You have all mistaken me,” said she, with bitter hostility; “you have +imagined that you had to deal with some silly child. But this shall do +none of you any good. You may kill me among you, but I am not afraid to +die. Death itself will be welcome rather than submission to that foul +miscreant, that vulgar coward, who takes advantage of a contemptible +trick, and pretends that there was a marriage. I say this to you--that I +defy him and all of you, and will defy you all--yes, to the bitter end; +and you may go and tell this to your wretched confederates.” + +As Edith said this, Mrs. Dunbar looked at her; and if there could have +appeared upon that face the signs of a wounded heart--a heart cut and +stung to its inmost fibre--the face that confronted Edith showed all +this at that moment. + +“Confederates!” she repeated. + +“Yes, you and Wiggins and this villain who, you say, is now living +here.” + +“What, Leon!” + +“Leon! Is that his name! Leon Dudleigh! Well, whatever name he chooses +to bear, it is all the same; though it seems strange that he should +adopt a stainless name like that of Dudleigh.” + +“Yes, that is his name,” said Mrs. Dunbar, wearily. + +“Till he assumes some other,” said Edith. “But they are all assumed +names,” she continued, bitterly--“Mowbray and Dudleigh and Dunbar also, +no doubt. Why you should call yourself Dunbar I can't imagine. You seem +to me to be Mrs. Wiggins. Wiggins at least can not be an assumed name.” + +At these words, which were spoken on the spur of the moment, out of mere +hostility toward Mrs. Dunbar, and the desire to wound her, the latter +recoiled as though from some sudden blow, and looked at Edith with awful +eyes. + +“You are terrible,” she said, in a low voice--“you are terrible. You can +not imagine what horrors you give expression to.” + +To this Edith paid no attention. It sounded old. It was like what +Wiggins had frequently said to her. + +“I can not imagine,” she continued, “any human being so utterly +bad-hearted, so altogether vile and corrupt, as this man who now calls +himself Leon Dudleigh. In pure fiendish malignity, and in all those +qualities which are abhorrent and shameful, he surpasses even, that +arch-villain Wiggins himself.” + +“Stop, stop!” cried Mrs. Dunbar. “I can not bear this. You must not talk +so. How do you know! You know nothing about Leon. Oh, how you wrong him! +Leon has had bad associates, but he himself is not bad. After all, Leon +has naturally a noble heart. He was a brave, high-minded boy. Oh, if +you could but know what he once was. You wrong Leon. You wrong him most +deeply. Oh, how deeply you wrong him!” + +Mrs. Dunbar had said all this in a kind of feverish agitation, speaking +quickly and vehemently. Never before had Edith seen any thing +approaching to excitement in this strong-hearted, vigilant-eyed, +self-contained woman, and the sight of such emotion amazed her. But for +this woman and her feelings she cared nothing whatever; and so in the +midst of her words she waved her hand and interrupted her. + +“I'm tired,” she said; “I can not stand any more excitement just now. I +wish to be alone.” + +At this. Mrs. Dunbar arose and walked wearily out of the room. + +One thing at least Edith considered as quite evident front Mrs. Dunbar's +agitation and eager championship of “Leon,” and that was that this Leon +had all along been a confederate of Wiggins and this woman, and that the +so-called “Lieutenant Dudleigh” had been one of the same band of +conspirators. It seemed evident now to her that the whole plot had been +contrived among them. Perhaps Wiggins was to get one half of the estate, +and this Leon Dudleigh the other half. + +Still she did not feel altogether sure, and in order to ascertain as +near as possible the truth as to her present position and prospects, she +determined to see Wiggins himself. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +JAILER AND CAPTIVE. + +On the following day Edith felt stronger, and calling Mrs. Dunbar, she +sent her to Wiggins with a request that the latter should meet her in +the drawing-room. She then walked through the long hall on her way down +stairs. Every thing looked as it did before her illness, except that one +change had taken place which arrested her attention the moment she +entered the drawing-room. + +Over the chimney-piece a portrait had been hung--a portrait in a large +gilt frame, which looked as though it had been painted but recently. It +was a portrait of Leon Dudleigh. On catching sight of this she felt as +if she had been rooted to the spot. She looked at it for a short time +with compressed lips, frowning brow, and clinched hands after which she +walked away and flung herself into a chair. + +Wiggins was evidently in no hurry, for it was more than half an hour +before he made his appearance. Edith sat in her chair, waiting for his +approach. The traces of her recent illness were very visible in the +pallor of her face, and in her thin, transparent hands. Her large eyes +seemed larger than ever, as they glowed luminously from their cavernous +depths, with a darker hue around each, as is often seen in cases of +sickness or debility, while upon her face there was an expression of +profound sadness that seemed fixed and unalterable. + +But in the tone with which she addressed Wiggins there was nothing like +sadness. It was proud, cold, stern, and full of bitterest hostility. + +“I have sent for you,” she began, “because you, Wiggins, are concerned +as much as I myself am in the issue of this business about which I am +going to speak. I have suffered a very gross outrage, but I still have +confidence both in a just Heaven and in the laws of the land. This +ruffian, who now it seems calls himself Leon Dudleigh--your +confederate--has, with your assistance, cheated me into taking part in a +ceremony which he calls a marriage. What you propose to gain for +yourself by this I can not imagine; for it seems to me that it would +have been rather for your advantage to remain the sole master of your +ward than to help some one else to share your authority. But for your +purposes I care nothing--the evil is done. Yet if this Leon Dudleigh or +you think that I will sit tamely down under such an intolerable wrong, +you are miserably mistaken. Sooner or later I shall be avenged. Sooner +or later I shall gain my freedom, and then my turn shall come. I wish +you to see that there is danger before you; and I wish you also to +understand that it is for your interest to be my sole master, as you +were before. I have sent for you, then, to ask you, Wiggins, to expel +this man Leon Dudleigh from the house. Be my guardian again, and I will +be your ward. More: I agree to remain here in a state of passive +endurance for a reasonable time--one or two years, for instance; and I +promise during that time to make no complaint. Do this--drive this man +away--and you shall have no reason to regret it. On the other hand; +remember there is an alternative. Villain though this man is, I may come +to terms with him, and buy my liberty from him by giving him half of the +estate, or even the whole of it. In that case it seems to me that you +would lose every thing, for Leon Dudleigh is as great a villain as +yourself.” + +As Edith spoke, Wiggins listened most attentively. He had seated +himself not far from her, and after one look at her had fixed his eyes +on the floor. He waited patiently until she had said all she wished to +say. Edith herself had not hoped to gain much by this interview, but +she hoped at least to be able to discover something concerning the +nature of the partnership which she supposed to exist among her enemies, +and something perhaps about their plans. The averted face of Wiggins +seemed to her the attitude of conscious guilt; but she felt a little +puzzled at signs of emotion which he exhibited, and which seemed hardly +the result of conscious guilt. Once or twice a perceptible shudder +passed through his frame; his bent head bowed lower; he covered his face +with his hands; and at her last words there came from him a low moan +that seemed to indicate suffering. + +“It's his acting,” she thought. “I wonder what his next pretense will +be?” + +Wiggins sat for some minutes without saying a word. When at length he +raised his head he did not look at Edith, but fastened his eyes on +vacancy, and went on to speak in a low voice. + +“Your remarks,” said he, “are all based on a misconception. This man is +no confederate of mine. I have no confederate. I--I work out my +purpose--by myself.” + +“I'm sure I wish that I could believe this,” said Edith; “but +unfortunately Mrs. Dunbar espouses his cause with so much warmth and +enthusiasm that I am forced to conclude that this Leon Dudleigh must be +a very highly valued or very valuable friend to both of you.” + +“In this case,” said Wiggins, “Mrs. Dunbar and I have different +feelings.” + +Instead of feeling gratified at this disclaimer of any connection with +Leon Dudleigh, Edith felt dissatisfied, and somewhat disconcerted. It +seemed to her that Wiggins was trying to baffle her and throw her off +the right track. She had hoped that by speaking out frankly her whole +mind she might induce him to come to some agreement with her; but by his +answers she saw that he was not in the least degree affected by her +warnings, or her threats, or her offers. + +“This Leon Dudleigh,” said she, “has all along acted sufficiently like a +confederate of yours to make me think that he is one.” + +“How?” + +“By coming into these grounds at all times; by having privileges equal +in all respects to your own; by handing over those privileges to his spy +and emissary--the one who took the name of Lieutenant Dudleigh. Surely +all this is enough to make me think that he must be your confederate.” + +“You are altogether mistaken,” said Wiggins, quietly. + +“He told some idle story once,” said Edith, anxious to draw more out of +Wiggins than these short answers, “about some power which he had over +you. He asserted that you were afraid of him. He said that you dared not +keep him out of the park. He said that his power over you arose from his +knowledge of certain past crimes of yours.” + +“When he said that,” remarked Wiggins, “he said what was false.” + +“Why, then, did you allow him to come here?” + +“I did so for reasons that I do not feel at liberty to explain--just +now. I will only say that the reasons were altogether different from +those which he stated.” + +Of this Edith did not believe a word; yet she felt completely baffled, +and did not know what to say to this man, who thus met all her +assertions with denials, and spoke in the calm, lofty tone of conscious +truth. But this, she thought, was only his “acting.” + +“I only hope that this is so,” said she; “but supposing that it is so, I +should like very much to know what you feel disposed to do. The claim +that this man asserts over me is utterly false. It is a mockery. If he +is really not your confederate, you will see, I am sure, that it is not +for your own interest to sustain him in his attempt to maintain his +claim. I wish, therefore, to know exactly what it is that you feel +willing to do.” + +“Your situation,” said Wiggins, “is a most unhappy one. I will do all +that I can to prevent it from becoming more so. If this man annoys you, +I will defend you against him, whatever it may cost.” + +This sounded well; yet still Edith was not satisfied. It seemed to her +too much like an empty promise which he had no idea of fulfilling. + +“How will you defend me?” she asked. “This man lives here now. He +asserts that he has the right to do so. He has published what he calls +my marriage to him in the newspapers. He calls himself my husband. All +this is a wrong and an insult to me. His presence here is a perpetual +menace. When he is absent he leaves a reminder of himself,” she +continued, in a more bitter tone, glancing toward the portrait. “Now I +wish to know what you will do. Will you prevent him from coming here? +Will you send him away, either in your name or in mine? You are easily +able to keep out my friends; will you keep out my enemies?” + +“This man,” said Wiggins, “shall soon give you no more trouble.” + +“Soon--what do you mean by soon?” asked Edith, impatiently. + +“As soon as my plans will allow me to proceed to extremities with him.” + +“Your plans!” repeated Edith. “You are always bringing up your plans. +Whatever is concerned, you plead your plans. They form a sufficient +excuse for you to refuse the commonest justice. And yet what I ask is +certainly for your own interests.” + +“If you knew me better,” said Wiggins, “you would not appeal to my +interests. I have not generally fashioned my life with regard to my own +advantage. Some day you will see this. You, at least, should be the last +one to complain of my plans, since they refer exclusively to the +vindication of your injured father.” + +“So you have said before,” said Edith, coldly. “Those plans must be very +convenient, since you use them to excuse every possible act of yours.” + +“You will not have to wait long now,” said Wiggins, in a weary voice, as +though this interview was too much for his endurance--“not very long. I +have heard to-day of something which is very favorable. Since the trial +certain documents and other articles have been kept by the authorities, +and an application has been made for these, with a view to the +establishment of your father's innocence. I have recently heard that the +application is about to be granted.” + +“You always answer my appeals for common justice,” said Edith, with +unchanged coldness, “by some reference to my father. It seems to me +that if you had wished to vindicate his innocence, it would have been +better to do so while he was alive. If you had done so, it might have +been better for yourself in the end. But now these allusions are idle +and worse than useless. They have no effect on me whatever. I value them +at what they are worth.” + +With these words Edith rose and left the room. She returned to her own +apartments with a feeling of profound dejection and disappointment. Of +Wiggins she could make nothing. He promised, but his promises were too +vague to afford satisfaction. + +Leon Dudleigh was away now, but would probably be back before long. As +she had failed with Wiggins, only one thing remained, and that was to +see Leon. She was resolved to meet him at once on his arrival, and +fight out once for all that battle which was inevitable between herself +and him. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +THE IRREPRESSIBLE STRUGGLE. + +About a month passed away, during which time Edith, in spite of her +troubles, grew stronger every day. Youth and a good, constitution were +on her side, and enabled her to rally rapidly from the prostration to +which she had been subjected. + +At length one morning she learned that Leon had arrived at the Hall. +This news gave her great satisfaction, for she had been waiting long, +and felt anxious to see him face to face, to tell him her own mind, and +gather from him, if possible, what his intentions were. An interview +with him under such peculiar circumstances might have been painful had +she been less courageous or less self-possessed; but to one with such +lofty pride as hers, and filled as she was with such scorn of Leon, and +convinced as she was that he was at heart an arrant coward, such an +interview had nothing in it to deter her. Suspense was worse. She +wished to meet that man. + +She sent word to him that she wished to see him, after which she went +down to the drawing-room and waited. Leon certainly showed no haste, for +it was as much as an hour before he made his appearance. On entering he +assumed that languid air which he had adopted on some of his former +visits. He looked carelessly at her, and then threw himself into a +chair. + +“Really, Mrs. Dudleigh,” said he, “this is an unexpected pleasure. 'Pon +my life, I had no idea that you would volunteer to do me so much honor!” + +“I am not Mrs. Dudleigh,” said Edith, “as you very well know. I am Miss +Dalton, and if you expect me to have any thing to say to you, you must +call me by my proper name. You will suffer dearly enough yet for your +crimes, and have no need to add to them.” + +“Now, my dear,” said Leon, “that is kind and wife-like, and all that. It +reminds me of the way in which wives sometimes speak in the plays.” + +“Speak to me as Miss Dalton, or you shall not speak to me at all.” + +“It's quite evident,” said Leon, with a sneer, “that you don't know into +whose hands you've fallen.” + +“On the contrary,” said Edith, contemptuously, “it has been my fortune, +or my misfortune, to understand from the first both you and Wiggins.” + +Leon gave a light laugh. + +“Your temper,” said he, “has not improved much, at any rate. That's +quite evident. You have always shown a very peculiar idea of the way in +which a lady should speak to a gentleman.” + +“One would suppose by that,” said Edith, “that you actually meant to +hint that you considered yourself a gentleman.” + +“So I am,” said Leon, haughtily. + +“As you have no particular birth or family,” said Edith, in her most +insolent tone, “I suppose you must rest your claims to be a gentleman +altogether on your good manners and high-toned character.” + +“Birth and family!” exclaimed Leon, excitedly, “what do you know about +them! You don't know what you're talking about.” + +“I know nothing about you, certainly,” said Edith. “I suppose you are +some mere adventurer.” + +Leon looked at her for a moment with a glance of intense rage; and as +she calmly returned his gaze, she noticed that peculiarity of his +frowning brow a red spot in the middle, with deep lines. + +“You surely in your wildest dreams,” said she, “never supposed that I +took you for a gentleman.” + +“Let me tell you,” cried Leon, stammering in his passion “let me tell +you that I associate with the proudest in the land.” + +“I know that,” replied Edith, quietly. “Am _I_ not here! But you +are only tolerated.” + +“Miss Dalton,” cried Leon, “you shall suffer for this.” + +“Thank you,” said Edith: “for once in your life you have spoken to me +without insulting me. You have called me by my right name. I could +smile at your threat under any circumstances, but now I can forgive it.” + +“It seems to me,” growled Leon, “that you are riding the high horse +somewhat, and that this is a rather queer tone for you to assume toward +me.” + +“I always assume a high tone toward low people.” + +“Low people! What do you mean!” cried Leon, his face purple with rage. + +“I really don't know any name better than that for you and your +friends.” + +“The name of Dudleigh,” said Leon, “is one of the proudest in the land.” + +[Illustration: SHE CONFRONTED HIM WITH A COLD, STONY GLARE.] + +“I swear by all that's holy that you are really my wife. The marriage +was a valid one. No law can break it. The banns were published in the +village church. All the villagers heard them. Wiggins kept himself shut +up so that he knew nothing about it. The clergyman is the vicar of +Dalton--the Rev. Mr. Munn. It has been, published in the papers. In the +eye of the law you are no longer Miss Dalton, you are Mrs. Leon +Dudleigh. You are my wife!” + +At these words, in spite of Edith's pride and courage, there came over +her a dark fear that all this might indeed be as he said. The mention +of the published banns disturbed her, and shook that proud and obstinate +conviction which she had thus far entertained that the scene in the +chapel was only a brutal practical joke. It might be far more. It might +not be a mockery after all. It might be good in the eye of the +law--that law whose injustice had been shown to her in the terrible +experience of her father; and if this were so, what then? + +A pang of anguish shot through her heart as this terrific thought +occurred. But the pang passed away, and with it the terror passed also. +Once more she called to her aid that stubborn Dalton fortitude and +Dalton pride which had thus far so well sustained her. + +“_Your_ wife!” she exclaimed, with a loathing and a scorn in her +face and in her voice that words could not express, at the sight of +which even Leon, with all his insolence, was cowed--“_your_ wife! +Do you think you can affect me by lies like these?” + +“Lies!” repeated Leon--“it's the truth. You are my wife, and you must +sign these papers.” + +“I don't think so,” said Edith, resuming her former coolness. + +“Do you dare to refuse me this?” + +“I don't see any daring about it. Of course I refuse.” + +“Sign them!” roared Leon, with an oath. + +Edith smiled lightly and turned away. + +Leon rushed toward her with a menacing gesture. But Edith was aware of +this. In an instant she turned, snatched a dagger from her breast which +had been concealed there, and confronted him with a cold, stony glare. + +“I well know,” said she, “what an utter coward you are. While I have +this you will not dare to touch me. It is better for you, on the whole, +just now, that you are a coward, for this dagger--which, by-the-way, I +always carry--is poisoned. It is an old family affair--and that shows +you one of the advantages of having a family--and so deadly is the +poison that a scratch would kill you. Yes, there is some advantage in +being a coward, for if you dared to touch me, I should strike you with +this as I would strike a mad dog!” + +Leon stood before her, a coward, as she knew and as she said, not daring +to come within reach of her terrible weapon, which she upheld with a +deadly purpose plainly visible in her eye. Yet it seemed as though, +with his great muscular power, he might easily have grasped that slender +arm and wrenched the dagger away. But this was a thing which he did not +dare to attempt; the risk was too great. He might have received a +scratch in the struggle with that young girl who confronted him so +steadily, and who, with all her fragile beauty, was so calm, so proud, +and so resolute. + +Edith waited for a few moments, and then walked quietly away, trusting +implicitly to Leon's cowardice, and without another word, or even +another look, she left the room and returned to her own apartments. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +A FIGHT IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP + +It will have been seen already that Leon had taken up his abode at +Dalton Hall immediately after that marriage ceremony as the husband of +Edith. Her illness had hitherto prevented him from having any +understanding with her, and his own affairs called him away before her +recovery. With Wiggins he remained on the same footing as before; nor +did he find himself able to alter that footing in the slightest degree. +Whatever Wiggins may have thought or felt on the subject of the +marriage, he revealed it to no one; and Leon found himself compelled to +wait for Edith's recovery before he could accomplish any thing definite +with regard to his own position. On his return, to Dalton Hall he +learned that she was convalescent, and he was much surprised at her +immediate request for an interview. + +With the result of that interview he had but little reason to be +satisfied. He felt disappointed, enraged, and humiliated. Edith had +been perfectly free from all fear of him. The young girl had shown +herself a virago. His insults she had returned with mocking sarcasms, +his threats she had treated with utter contempt, and finally she had +proved him to his own face to be a coward. Over the recollection of +that scene he could only gnash his teeth in fruitless rage. The more he +thought of that interview, the more bitter grew his mortification; and +at length he resolved to force matters to a climax at once by coming to +a distinct and final understanding with Wiggins himself. + +Leon had enjoyed the freedom of the house long enough to know where +Wiggins's room was, and into that room he intruded himself abruptly on +the following day. It was in this room that Wiggins spent the greater +part of his time, carrying on a vigorous though not very extensive +correspondence, and moving the wires of those plans at which he had +hinted to Edith. He was here now, and as Leon entered he looked up with +a silent stare. + +“I'll not stand this any longer,” burst forth Leon, abruptly and +vehemently. “I'm in terrible difficulties. I've been waiting long +enough. You must side with me actively, for your assistance is +absolutely necessary to bring that mad girl to terms. I'm married to +her. She's my wife. I must have control of this place at once; and I'll +tolerate no farther opposition from her, or humbug from you. I've come +now to tell you this finally and peremptorily.” + +“She is not your wife,” said Wiggins, coldly. + +“She is.” + +“It was a trick. The ceremony was a miserable sham.” + +“It was no sham. It was done legally, and can not be undone.” + +“Legally! Pooh! The whole thing was a farce. It's no marriage. +Legally! Why, what has that miserable affair to do with the law?” + +“What has it to do? It has every thing to do. The whole thing was done +in a perfectly legal manner. The banns were regularly published by the +vicar of Dalton in Dalton Church, and in that chapel Edith Dalton was +regularly and legally married to Leon Dudleigh by the Rev. Mr. Munn. +What more is wanting to make it legal? Go and ask Mr. Munn himself.” + +“The banns!” exclaimed Wiggins. + +“Yes, the banns,” said Leon. “You never heard of that, perhaps. If you +doubt me, go and ask Munn.” + +“It was not you that she married!” cried Wiggins, after a pause, in +which he seemed struck rather painfully by Leon's last information. “It +was not you--it was that other one. He called himself Dudleigh--a +miserable assumed name!” + +“You know nothing about it,” said Leon, “whether it was assumed or not. +And as to the marriage, it was to me. I held her hand; I put the ring +on her finger; she married me, and no other. But I'm not going to talk +about that. I've simply come here to insist on your active help. I +won't stand any more of this humbug. I've already told you that I know +you.” + +Wiggins remained silent for some time. + +“So you did,” said he at last, in a low voice; “but what of that?” + +“Why, only this: you had to let me do what I chose. And I intend to +keep a good hold of you yet, my fine fellow.” + +Wiggins placed both his elbows on the table in front of him, and looked +fixedly at Leon for some time. + +“You did say once,” said he, slowly, “that you knew me, and the +possibility that it might be true induced me to tolerate you here for +some time. I trusted to Miss Dalton's innate good sense to save her from +any danger from one like you; but it appears that I was mistaken. At the +present moment, however, I may as well inform you that you have not the +slightest idea who I am, and more than this, that I have not the +slightest objection to tell you.” + +“Pooh!” said Leon, with ill-disguised uneasiness, “it's all very well +for you to take that tone, but it won't do with me. I know who you are.” + +“Who am I?” + +“Oh, I know.” + +“Who? who? Say it! If you did know, you would not imagine that you had +any power over me. Your power is a dream, and your knowledge of me is a +sham. Who am I?” + +“Why,” said Leon, with still greater uneasiness and uncertainty in his +face and voice, “you are not John Wiggins.” + +“Who do you think I am?” asked Wiggins. + +“Who? who? Why, you came from Australia.” + +“Well, what of that?” + +“Well, you are some convict who got acquainted with Dalton out there, +and have come back here to try to get control of these estates.” + +“But how could I do that? If this were so, do you suppose that Wiggins +of Liverpool would allow it?” + +“Oh, he has a share in the business. He goes halves with you, perhaps.” + +“If he wanted any shares at all in such a transaction, he might have +all, and therefore he would be a fool to take half. Your theory, I +infer, is somewhat lame. And what of Mrs. Dunbar? Is she an Australian +convict too?” + +“Mrs. Dunbar?--who is she? What! that crazy housekeeper? She looks as +though she may have just been released from some lunatic asylum.” + +Wiggins made no immediate reply, and sat for a few moments in thought. +Then he looked at Leon and said: + +“Well, you have got hold of a part of the truth--just enough to mislead +you. It is true that I have been in Australia, though why you should +suppose that I was a convict I do not know. More: I went out there on +account of Dalton, and for no other reason. While there I saw much of +him, and gained his whole confidence. He told me his whole story +unreservedly. He believed me to be his friend. He confided every thing +to me. You must have heard of his trial, and his strange persistence in +refusing to say who the guilty party was.” + +“Oh yes,” said Leon, with a laugh. “A good idea that, when the guilty +party was himself.” + +“It was not himself,” said Wiggins, “and before long the world shall +know who it was, for that is the one business of my life since my +return, to which I have sacrificed all other concerns. In my attention +to this I have even neglected Miss Dalton.” + +“She does not appear to think that you have neglected her,” said Leon, +with a sneer. + +To this Wiggins paid no attention. + +“Dalton,” said he, “told me all before he died. He thought of his +daughter, and though he had suffered himself, yet he thought on his +death-bed that it would be a sin to leave to her such a legacy of shame. +It was this that broke his obstinate silence, and made him tell his +secret to me. And here, Leon Dudleigh, is a thing in which you are +concerned. + +“I!” exclaimed Leon, in astonishment, not unmingled with alarm. + +“I will tell you presently. I will simply remark now that I am +following out his wishes, and am working for Miss Dalton, as he himself +would have worked, to redeem her name.” + +“The name is hers no longer,” said Leon. + +“She seems to give you a precious hard time of it too, I should say, and +does not altogether appreciate your self-denying and wonderfully +disinterested efforts.” + +“I have not treated her with sufficient consideration,” said Wiggins. “I +misunderstood her character. I began altogether wrong. I see now that +I ought to have given her more of my confidence, or, better yet, that I +ought not to have brought her here till the work was done. Well,” he +added, with a sigh, “my chief consolation is that it will be all right +in the end.” + +“This is all rubbish,” said Leon. “You are not what you pretend to be. +You are not her guardian. You are an interloper and a swindler. You +shall remain here no longer. I am her husband, and I order you off the +premises at once.” + +“You are not her husband, and I am her guardian,” said Wiggins, calmly. +“I was appointed by her father on his death-bed.” + +“I don't believe it. Besides, your name is not Wiggins at all.” + +“How do you know? You know nothing.” + +[Illustration: DOTARD! DO YOU TALK OF VENGEANCE?] + +“I know Wiggins.” + +“Wiggins of Liverpool, perhaps, but there are more Wigginses in the +world than that.” + +“A court of law will show that--” + +“You will not go to a court of law. That is my task. And mark me,” + continued Wiggins, with thrilling emphasis, “when a court of law takes +up the subject of the Dalton estates or the Dalton name, then it will be +the turn for you and yours to tremble.” + +“Tremble!” exclaimed Leon, scornfully. + +“Yes,” repeated Wiggins. “Your father--” + +“Pooh!” said Leon. + +“When Dalton died,” continued Wiggins, “he left his papers. Among them +was a letter of which he himself told me. If he had produced that +letter on his trial, he would have escaped, and the guilty man would +have been punished. The letter was written by the real forger. It +inclosed the forged check to Dalton, asking him to draw the money and +pay certain pressing debts. The writer of that letter was your own +father--Lionel Dudleigh!” + +“It's a lie!” cried Leon, starting up, with terrible excitement in his +face--an excitement, too, which was mingled with unspeakable dread. + +“It's true,” said Wiggins, calmly, “and the letter can be proved.” + +“It can not.” + +“It can, and by the best of testimony.” + +“I don't believe it.” + +“Perhaps not; but there is something more. With the murder trial you +are no doubt familiar. In fact, I take it for granted that you are +familiar with Dalton's case _in all its bearings_,” added Wiggins, +in a tone of deep meaning. “In that murder trial, then, you are aware +that a Maltese cross was found on the scene of murder, and created much +excitement. You know what part it had in the trial. I now inform you +that I have proof which can show beyond a doubt that this Maltese cross +was the property of your father--Lionel Dudleigh.” + +“It's a lie--an infernal lie!” said Leon, in a hoarse voice. His +excitement had now become terrible. + +“It's true--all true,” continued Wiggins. “It can all be proved by a +witness that can not be impeached. Yes, Leon Dudleigh, you yourself +would be forced to accept the testimony of that witness.” + +“What witness?” said Leon, in a voice that was scarcely audible from +conflicting emotions. + +Wiggins looked at him earnestly, and then said, in a low, deep, solemn +voice, + +“Leon Dudleigh, that witness is _your mother!_” + +The other started as though he had been shot. + +“My mother!” he almost screamed--“my mother! why, she--she is +dead--dead long ago.” + +“When did you find that out?” said Wiggins. + +“She's dead! she's dead!” repeated Leon, as though by assertion he could +make it true. + +“She is not dead,” said Wiggins, in an awful voice, “though all these +years she has lived a living death. She is not dead. She is alive, and +she now stands ready, when the hour comes, though with an agonized +heart, to give that testimony which, years ago, she dared not and could +not give. She has allowed the innocent to suffer, and the guilty to go +free, but now she will do so no longer. The work upon which I have been +engaged is almost complete. The preparations are made, and this very day +I am going to Liverpool to perform the last acts that are necessary +toward vindicating the memory of Dalton, establishing his innocence, and +punishing the guilty. As for you, you can do nothing here, and I have +resolved to punish you for what you have done. I shall show you no +mercy. If you want to save yourself, leave the country, for otherwise I +swear you will never be safe from my vengeance.” + +“Vengeance!” said Leon, in low, menacing tones. “Dotard! do _you_ +talk of vengeance? You do not understand the meaning of that word. Wait +till you see what I can do.” + +And with these words he left the room. + +That evening Wiggins left for Liverpool. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +THE HUSBAND'S LAST APPEAL. + +Early on the following day Edith received a request from Leon for +another interview. This request was acceptable in every way, for the +last interview had been no more satisfactory to her than to him, and she +could not help hoping that something more definite might result from a +new one. She therefore went down, and found him already in the room. + +On this occasion Leon showed nothing of that languor which he had +previously affected. He appeared, on the contrary, uneasy, nervous, and +impatient. So abstracted was he by his own thoughts that he did not +notice her entrance. She sat down and waited for a little while, after +which she said, quietly, + +“Did you wish to see me, Captain--a--Dudleigh?” Leon started, then +frowned; then, after a little silence, he began abruptly: + +“You may deny it as much as you choose, but it's no use. You are +actually married to me. You are really and truly my wife, both in the +eyes of man and in the eyes of the law. From that marriage nothing can +ever deliver you but a divorce.” + +“You are mistaken,” said Edith, quietly. “Even if that miserable +performance should turn out to be a marriage--which is absurd--still +there is one other thing that can free me.” + +“Ah?--and what may that be?” + +“Death!” said Edith, solemnly. + +Leon turned pale. “Is that a threat?” he asked at length, in a trembling +voice. “Whose death do you mean?” + +Edith made no reply. + +“Yes,” said Leon, after a pause, going on with his former train of +thought, “at any rate you are my wife, and you can not help it. You may +deny it as much as you please, but that will not avail. In spite of +this, however, I do not molest you, although I might so easily do it. I +never trouble you with my presence. I am very forbearing. Few would do +as I do. Yet I have rights, and some of them, at least, I am determined +to assert. Now, on the whole, it is well for you--and you ought to see +it--that you have one here who occupies the peculiar position toward you +which I do. If it were not for me you would be altogether in the power +of Wiggins. He is your guardian or your jailer, whichever you choose to +call him. He could shut you up in the vaults of Dalton Hall if he +chose--and he probably will do that very thing before long--for who is +there to prevent him? I am the only one who can stand between you and +him. I am your only hope. You do not know who and what this man is. You +think you know him, but you don't. You think of him as a villain and a +tyrant. Let me tell you that in your bitterest hate of that man you have +never begun to conceive the fraction of his villainy. Let me tell you +that he is one who passes your comprehension. Let me tell you that, +however much you may hate me, if I were to tell you what Wiggins is, the +feelings that you have toward me would be almost affection, compared to +those which you would have toward him.” + +Leon paused. He had spoken most earnestly and vehemently; but upon Edith +these words produced no effect. She believed that this was a last effort +to work upon her feelings by exciting her fears of Wiggins. She did not +believe him capable of speaking the truth to her, and thus his words +produced no result. + +“If you had not been married to me when you were,” continued Leon, “I +solemnly assure you that by this time you would have been where hope +could never reach you.” + +“Well, really,” said Edith, “Captain--a--Dudleigh, all this is +excessively childish. By such an absurd preamble as this you, of +course, must mean something. All this, however, can have no possible +effect on me, for the simple reason that I consider it spoken for +effect. I hope, therefore, that you will be kind enough to come at once +to business, and say precisely what it is that you want of me.” + +“It is no absurd preamble,” said Leon, gloomily. “It is not nonsense, as +I could soon show you. There is no human being who has done so much +wrong to you and yours as this Wiggins, yet you quietly allow him to be +your guardian.” + +“I?” said Edith. “I allow him? Let me be free, and then you will see +how long I allow him.” + +“But I mean here--in Dalton Hall.” + +“I do not allow him any thing. I am simply a prisoner. He is my jailer, +and keeps me here.” + +“You need not be so.” + +“Pray how can I escape?” + +“By siding with me.” + +“With you?” asked Edith--“and what then?” + +“Well, if you side with me I will drive him out.” + +“You seem incapable of understanding,” said Edith, “that of the two, you +yourself, both by nature and by position, are by far the more abhorrent +to me. Side with you! And is this the proposal you have to make?” + +“I tell you that you are in no danger from me, and that you are from +him.” + +“Really, as far as danger is concerned, my prospects with Wiggins are +far preferable to my prospects with you.” + +“But you don't know him. He has done terrible things--deeds of horror.” + +“And you--what have you done? But perhaps I have mistaken you. When you +ask me to side with you, you may perhaps mean that I shall be at +liberty, and that when you expel Wiggins you will allow me to go also.” + +At this Leon looked down in evident embarrassment. + +“Well--not--yet,” he said, slowly. “In time, of course; but it can not +all be done just at once, you know.” + +“What can not be done at once?” + +“Your--your freedom.” + +“Why not?” + +“Well, there are--a--certain difficulties in the way.” + +“Then what can I gain by siding with you? Why should I cast off Wiggins, +and take a new jailer who has done to me a wrong far more foul and far +more intolerable than any that Wiggins ever attempted?” + +“But you mistake me. I intend to let you go free, of course--that is, in +time.” + +“In time!” + +“Yes; every thing can not be done in a moment.” + +“This is mere childishness. You are trifling. I am astonished that you +should speak in this way, after what you know of me.” + +“But I tell you I will set you free--only I can not do that until I get +what I want.” + +“And what is it that you want?” + +“Why, what I married you for.” + +“What is that?” + +“Money,” said Leon, abruptly. + +“Money,” repeated Edith, in surprise. + +“Yes, money,” said Leon, harshly. + +“You must really apply to Wiggins, then,” said she, carelessly. + +“No; you yourself are the only one to whom I must apply.” + +“To me? I have no money whatever. It is of no use for me to inform you +that Wiggins is all-powerful here. I thought by your professed knowledge +of his wonderful secrets that you had some great power over him, and +could get from him whatever you want.” + +“Never mind what you thought,” growled Leon. “I come to you, and you +only, and I ask you for money.” + +“How can _I_ give it?” + +“By signing your name to a paper, a simple paper, which I can use. Your +signature is necessary to effect what I wish.” + +“My signature? Ah! And what possible inducement can you offer me for my +signature?” + +“Why, what you most desire.” + +“What? My freedom?” + +“Yes.” + +“Very well. Will you drive me to the village at once?” + +Leon hesitated. + +“Well, not just at once, you know. You must remain here a short time, +and go through certain formalities and routine work, and attest certain +things before a lawyer.” + +Edith smiled. + +“What a simpleton you must still think me! How easy you must think it is +to impose upon me! Perhaps you think me so credulous, or so much in the +habit of confiding in you, that no such thing as doubt ever enters my +mind.” + +Leon glared angrily at her. + +“I tell you I must have it,” he cried, in excited tones. “I must have +it--by fair means or foul.” + +“But of the two ways I _presume_ you have a preference for the +latter,” said Edith. + +“I tell you I must and will have it,” reiterated Leon. + +“I don't see how you can get my signature very well--unless you forge +it; but then I suppose that will not stand in your way.” + +“Now by all that is most holy,” cried Leon, vehemently, “you make me +hate you even worse than I hate Wiggins.” + +“Really, these feelings of yours are a subject in which I do not take +the smallest interest.” + +“I tell you,” cried Leon, struggling to repress his rage, “if you sign +this paper you shall be free.” + +“Let me be free first, and then I will think about it.” + +“If you get free you'll refuse to sign,” said Leon. + +“But if I were to sign first I should never be free.” + +“You shall be free. I promise you on the honor of a gentleman,” cried +Leon, earnestly. + +“I'm afraid,” said Edith, in a tone of quiet contempt, “that the +security is of too little value.” + +Leon looked at her with fury in his eyes. + +“You are driving me to the most desperate measures,” he cried. + +“It seems to me that your measures have all along been as desperate as +they well can be.” + +“I swear by all that's holy,” thundered Leon, “that I'll tame you yet. +I'll bring you into subjection.” + +“Ah! then in that case,” said Edith, “my comfort will be that the +subjection can not last long.” + +“Will it not?” asked Leon. + +“No, it will not, as you very well know,” said Edith, in cold, measured +tones, looking steadfastly at him with what seemed like a certain solemn +warning. She rose as she said this, still looking at Leon, while he +also rose in a state of vehement excitement. + +“What do you meant” he cried. “You look as blood-thirsty as an +assassin.” + +“I may yet become one,” said Edith, gloomily, “if this lasts much +longer. You have eyes, but you will not see. You treat me like some +silly, timid child, while I have all the time the spirit of a man. This +can only end in one way. Some one must die!” + +Leon looked at her in astonishment. Her voice and her look showed that +she was in earnest, but the fragile beauty of her slender form seemed to +belie the dark meaning of her words. + +“I came with a fair offer,” said he, in a voice hoarse with passion. + +“You!” said Edith, in cold scorn; “you with a fair offer! Fairness and +honor and justice and truth, and all such things, are altogether unknown +to such as you.” + +At this Leon frowned that peculiar frown of his, and gnawed his mustache +in his rage. + +“I have spared you thus far,” said he--“I have spared you; but now, by +Heaven, you shall feel what it is to have a master!” + +“You!” she cried--“you spared me? If I have escaped any injury from you, +it has been through my own courage and the cowardice of your own heart. +You my master! You will learn a terrible lesson before you become +that!” + +“I have spared you,” cried Leon, now beside himself with rage--“I have +spared you, but I will spare you no longer. After this you shall know +that what I have thus far done is as nothing to that which is yet before +you.” + +“What you have done!” said Edith, fixing her great wrathful eyes more +sternly upon Leon, with a look of deadly menace, and with burning +intensity of gaze, and speaking in a low tone that was tremulous with +repressed indignation--“what you have done! Let me tell you, Captain +Dudleigh, your heart's blood could never atone for the wrongs you have +done me! Beware, Sir, how you drive me to desperation. You little know +what I have in my mind to do. You have made me too familiar with the +thought of death!” + +At these words Leon stared at her in silence. He seemed at last to +understand the full possibility of Edith's nature, and to comprehend +that this one whom he threatened was capable, in her despair, of making +all his threats recoil on his own head: He said nothing, and in a few +moments afterward she left the room. + +As she went out of the door she encountered Hugo. He started as she +came noiselessly upon him. He had evidently been listening to all that +had been said. At this specimen of the way in which she was watched, +though it really showed her no more than what she had all along known, +there arose in Edith's mind a fresh sense of helplessness and of peril. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: EDITH SET TO WORK. ] + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +THE FUGITIVE AND THE PURSUER. + +On returning to her own room from that interview with Leon, Edith sat +for a long time involved in thought. It was evident to her now that her +situation was one full of frightful peril. The departure of Wiggins, of +which she was aware, seemed to afford additional danger. Between him +and Leon there had been what seemed to her at least the affectation of +dislike or disagreement, but now that he was gone there remained no one +who would even pretend to interpose between herself and her enemy. Even +if Mrs. Dunbar had been capable of assisting her against Leon, Edith +knew that no reliance could be placed upon her, for she had openly +manifested a strong regard for him. + +This departure of Wiggins, which thus seemed to make her present +position more perilous, seemed also to Edith to afford her a better +opportunity than any she had known since her arrival of putting into +execution her long-meditated project of flight. True, there was still +the same difficulty which had been suggested once before--the want of +money--but Edith was now indifferent to this. The one thing necessary +was to escape from her new perils. If she could but get out of the +Dalton grounds, she hoped to find some lawyer who might take up her +cause, and allow her enough to supply her modest wants until that cause +should be decided. But liberty was the one thought that eclipsed all +others in her estimation; and if she could but once effect her escape +from this horrible place, it seemed to her that all other things would +be easy. + +The present appeared to be beyond all others the fitting time, for +Wiggins was away, and it seemed to her that in his absence the watch +over her would probably be relaxed. Her long illness would of itself +have thrown them to some extent off their guard, and render her purpose +unsuspected. By this time it would doubtless be forgotten that she had +once left the Hall by night, and it was not likely that any precaution +would be taken against a second flight on the part of one so weak as she +was supposed to be. A few days before she had made a stealthy visit to +that door, and had found, to her great relief, that no additional +fastenings had been put there. Her illness had evidently rendered any +such precaution unnecessary for the time; and since her recovery Wiggins +had no doubt been too much occupied with other things to think of this. + +Now was the time, then, for flight. The danger was greater than ever +before, and the opportunity for escape better. Leon was master in the +house. The other inmates were simply his creatures. Leon Dudleigh, as he +called himself, claimed to be her husband. He asserted that claim +insolently and vehemently. She had defied him, but how long would she be +able to maintain that defiant attitude? How long could her frail +strength sustain her in a life of incessant warfare like this, even if +her spirit should continue to be as indomitable as ever? The scene of +this day, and her last parting with him, made the danger seem so +imminent that it nerved her resolution, and made her determine at all +hazards to attempt her escape that night. + +But how should she escape? + +Not for the first time did this question occur. For a long time she had +been brooding over it, and as she had thought it over she had devised a +plan which seemed to hold out to her some prospect of success. + +In the first place, it was evident that she would have to climb over the +wall. To obtain any key by which she could open the gates was +impossible. She could find none that were at all likely to do so; +besides, she was afraid that even if she had a key, the attempt to +unlock the gates might expose her to detection and arrest by the +watchful porter. The wall, therefore, was her only hope. + +Now that wall could not be climbed by her unassisted strength, but she +knew that if she had any sort of a ladder it might easily be done. The +question that arose, then, was how to procure this ladder. A wooden one +could not be of any service, for she could not carry it so far, and she +saw plainly that her attempt must be made by means of some sort of a +rope-ladder. + +Having reached this conclusion, she began a diligent search among all +the articles at her disposal, and finally concluded that the bed-cord +would be exactly what she needed. In addition to this, however, +something more was required--something of the nature of a grapple or +hook to secure her rope-ladder to the top of the wall. This required a +further search, but in this also she was successful. An iron rod on the +curtain pole along which the curtains ran appeared to her to be well +suited to her needs. It was about six feet long and a quarter of an inch +thick. The rod rested loosely on the pole, and Edith was able to remove +it without difficulty. + +All these preliminaries had been arranged or decided upon before this +evening, and Edith had now only to take possession of the rod and the +rope, and adapt them to her wants. For this purpose she waited till +dark, and then began her work. + +It was moonlight, and she was able to work without lighting a lamp, thus +securing additional secrecy. This moonlight was both an advantage and a +disadvantage, and she did not know whether to be glad or sorry about it. +It certainly facilitated her escape by showing the way, but then, on the +other hand, it rendered discovery easier. + +Edith set to work, and, first of all, she removed the bed-cord. It was +as strong as was desirable, and far longer than was necessary. She +doubled part of this, and tied knots at intervals of about a foot, and +in this simple way formed what was a very good step-ladder about three +yards long, which was sufficient for her purpose. Then she removed the +iron curtain rod, and bent this in such a way that it formed a hook or +grapple strong enough for her wants. She thus had a rope-ladder, with a +grappling-iron attached, of rude construction, it is true, yet perfectly +well suited to the task before her, and so light as to be quite +portable. + +These preparations did not take up much time. After taking what she +wanted of the bed-cord, there was enough left to replace in the bedstead +so as to hold up the bed. She did not know what might happen, and wished +to preserve appearances in the event of Mrs. Dunbar's entrance, or in +case of her being compelled to postpone her project. From the same +motive she also replaced the curtain so as to look as it did before, +securing it in its place by means of pins. + +At length all these preparations were completed, and it only remained +for Edith to wait for the proper time to start. + +The hours passed on. + +Midnight came, but even at that hour Edith thought that it was too +early. Leon probably kept late hours, and might be wandering about. She +determined to wait longer. + +The moon was still shining. There were only a few scattered clouds in +that clear sky. + +Could she find her way to the wall? She felt confident of that. She +intended to go down the avenue, keeping close to the trees, so as to fly +to their shelter in case of pursuit. When she reached the neighborhood +of the porter's lodge, she would go through the trees to the wall, +trusting to fortune to find her way for that short distance. + +Such were the hopes and plans, made long before, which now occupied her +thoughts as she waited. + +At last two o'clock came. It seemed now that it would be unwise to wait +any longer, since the time that was left between this and daylight was +barely sufficient to allow for contingencies. Without any farther delay, +therefore, she prepared to depart. + +It was with a painful feeling of suspense and agitation that she set +forth upon this attempt at flight, which she knew must be a final one. +Over her left arm she threw the rope-ladder, while in her left hand she +held that ancestral dagger which had already done her such good service +in her dealings with Leon. Her right hand was thus free to grope in the +dark for her way, to open bolts, or to seize the dagger from her other +hand whenever the need for it might arise. For this last dread necessity +she had thoroughly prepared herself. By the desperation of her position, +and by the dark menaces of Leon, she had been nerved to a courage beyond +even that elevated standard which her high spirit ordinarily reached, +and she had resolved that if any one interposed between herself and that +liberty for which she longed, to use that dagger, and to strike without +scruple. + +On leaving her room she stood for a moment in the outer hall and +listened. All was still. She glided noiselessly along, and reached the +stairway. Once more she stood and listened before descending. There was +silence yet. She now descended the stairs as noiselessly as before, and +reached the lower hall, where she walked quickly toward the east end, +and came to the narrow stairway that led down to the door. Here once +more she paused. A fearful thought came to her as she looked down. What +if some one should be waiting there in the dark! What if Leon should be +there! In spite of herself a shudder passed through her at that thought. + +Suddenly, as she stood there, she heard a sound--a sound which roused +her once more to action, and inspired new fears. It was the sound of a +footfall--far away, indeed, inside the house, but still a footfall--a +heavy tread, as of some one in pursuit, and its sound was loud and +menacing to her excited senses. There was only one to whom she could +attribute it--Leon! + +He had heard her, then! + +She was pursued! + +Like lightning this thought came to her, and brought terror with it. She +could delay no longer. Down the narrow stairway she hurried through the +darkness, and reached the door. In her panic she forgot her usual +caution. With a jerk she drew the bolt back, and a harsh grating sound +arose. She flung open the door, which also creaked on its unused +hinges. Then leaping out, she hastily banged the door after her, and ran +straight on. + +In front of Dalton Hall there was a wide lawn and a pond. Beyond this +arose the trees of the park. Toward the shelter of these shadowy trees +Edith hurried, with the dread sense in her soul that she was being +pursued by a remorseless enemy. This thought lent additional speed to +her footsteps as she flew over the intervening space. The moon was +shining brightly, and she knew that she could easily be seen by any +watcher; but she sought only the more to reach the trees, and thus +escape observation. The time seemed long indeed to her in those moments +of dread suspense; but the space was at last traversed, the trees were +reached, and plunging into the midst of them, she ran along, +occasionally stumbling, until at length, partly from exhaustion and +partly from a desire to see where her enemy might be, so as to elude him +better, she stopped. + +Her course had been a circuitous one, but she had kept along the edge of +the wood, so that now, as she stopped, she found herself under the +shadow of the trees, and immediately opposite the portico of Dalton +Hall, between which and herself lay the pond. Here she stood, and +looked over the intervening space. + +As she looked, she at first saw no appearance of any human being, and +she began to think that her fears all along had been unfounded; but in a +little while, as her eyes wandered over the front of the Hall, she saw +something which at once renewed all her excitement, and showed her that +her fears were true. + +Upon the portico stood a figure, the general outlines of which were now +visible to her, as she looked carefully, and seemed to be the figure of +Leon. She could recognize the gray dress which he usually wore, and also +understood why she had not noticed him before, for the color of his +clothes had made him but faintly visible against the gray stone mass of +the background. He was now standing there with his face turned in her +direction. + +“He has heard me,” she thought. “He has seen me. Instead of chasing me +at once, he has stopped to listen, so as to judge of my course. He knows +that I am here now in this spot, and is still listening to find out if I +go any further.” + +In a few moments her attention was attracted by a dark object lying on +the portico near Leon. + +It was the dog! + +She knew it well. Her heart sank within her. + +“He is going to track me with the dog!” she thought. + +What could she do? + +Nothing. Flight was now worse than useless. All seemed lost, and there +was nothing now left to her in that moment of despair but the resolve to +resist to the end. + +After a short time, which to Edith seemed prolonged to a terrible +degree, the figure came down the steps, followed by the dog. + +Edith watched. + +He walked on; he rounded the end of the pond; he came nearer! + +She could now recognize his face as the moon shone down. + +It was Leon. There was no longer the slightest doubt of that. He was +coming toward her, and the huge dog followed. + +Edith involuntarily shrank back among the trees, and grasping her dagger +with desperate resolve, awaited the approach of her enemy. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +THE EMPTY ROOMS. + +On the following morning Mrs. Dunbar waited a long time for Edith's +appearance. But she did not make her appearance, and the time passed, +until it at length grew so late that she determined to see what was the +matter. Full of fear lest some new illness had been the result of the +new excitement to which she had been subjected, Mrs. Dunbar passed +cautiously through Edith's sitting-room, and knocked at her bedroom +door. + +There was no answer. + +She knocked again and again, and still receiving no answer, she opened +the door and looked in. + +To her amazement the room was empty. What was more surprising was the +fact that the bed did not appear to have been slept in. There was no +disorder visible in the room. Every thing was in its usual place, but +Edith was not there, and in that one glance which Mrs. Dunbar gave she +took in the whole truth. + +Edith had fled! + +She knew also that she must have fled during the night; that the event +against which such precautions had been taken had occurred at last, and +that she was responsible. Over that sorrowful anxious face there came +now a deeper sorrow and a graver anxiety at that discovery, and sitting +down upon a chair, she tried to conjecture Edith's possible course, and +wondered how she could get over the wall and out of the grounds. + +At length she left this room, and going down stairs, called Hugo. + +“Hugo,” said she, “has the captain come down?” + +“I habn't seen him, ma'am,” said Hugo, respectfully. + +“He always rises early,” said Mrs. Dunbar. “I wonder what's the matter. +He certainly must be up.” + +Turning away, she ascended the stairs, and went to the room which was +occupied by Leon. The door was open. She entered. The room looked as +though it had just been left by its occupant. The bed bore signs of +having been occupied. The valise was lying there open. Upon the +toilet-table was a pocket-book, and hanging from the screw of the +looking-glass was his watch. His riding whip and gloves and top-boots +were lying in different places. + +As Mrs. Dunbar saw all this, she concluded at first that he had gone out +for a walk, and would soon be back; but the lateness of the hour made +that idea seem absurd, and showed her that there must be some other +cause. The flight of Edith thereupon occurred to her, and was very +naturally associated in her mind with the departure of Leon. Had he been +watching? Had he detected her flight, and gone in pursuit? It seemed +so. If so, he was doubtless yet in pursuit of the fugitive, who must +have fled fast and far to delay him so long. + +Then another thought came--the idea of violence. Perhaps he had caught +the fugitive, and in his rage and vindictive fury had harmed her. That +he was fierce enough for any atrocity she well knew; and the thought +that he had killed her, and had fled, came swift as lightning to her +mind. + +The idea was terrible. She could not endure it. She left the room and +hurried down stairs again. + +“Hugo,” said she, “go down and ask the porter if he has seen the captain +or Miss Dalton.” + +“Miss Dalton!” exclaimed Hugo. + +“Yes; she's gone.” + +“Gone!” repeated Hugo, in amazement. + +He said no more, but hurried down to the gates, while Mrs. Dunbar, who +felt restless and ill at ease, walked up the stairs, and feeling +fatigued, stopped on the landing, and leaned against the window there, +looking out upon the ground in the rear of the Hall. + +Standing here, her eyes were attracted by a sight which made her start. +It was the Newfoundland dog. He was standing at some distance from the +house, looking straight ahead at vacancy, in a rigid attitude. The sight +of this animal, who was always the inseparable companion of his master, +standing there in so peculiar a fashion by himself, excited Mrs. Dunbar; +and forgetful of her weariness, she descended the stairs again, and +quitting the Hall, approached the spot where the dog was standing. + +As she approached, the dog looked at her and wagged his tail. She called +him. He went on wagging his tail, but did not move from the spot. She +went up to him and stroked him, and looked all around, hoping to see +some signs of his master. She looked in the direction in which the dog +had been staring when she first noticed him. The stables seemed to be +the place. Toward these she walked, and tried to induce the dog to +follow, but he would not. She then walked over to the stables, and +looked through them, without seeing any trace of the object of her +search. Upon this she returned to the house. + +On coming back she found Hugo. He had been to the gates, he said; but +the porter had seen nothing whatever either of the captain or Miss +Dalton. + +This intelligence deepened the anxious expression on Mrs. Dunbar's face. + +“His dog is here,” said she, in a tremulous voice. + +“His dog!” said Hugo. “Oh yes; he's ben out dar all de mornin'. Dunno +what de matta wid dat ar animal at all. Stands dar like a gravy statoo.” + +For the rest of that day Mrs. Dunbar was restless and distressed. She +wandered aimlessly about the house. She sent Hugo off to scour the +grounds to see if he could find any trace of either of the fugitives. +Every moment she would look out from any window or door that happened to +be nearest, to see if either of them was returning. But the day passed +by, and Hugo came back from his long search, but of neither of the +fugitives was a single trace found. + +What affected Mrs. Dunbar as much as any thing was the behavior of the +dog. Through all that day he remained in the same place, sometimes +standing, sometimes lying down, but never going away more than a few +feet. That the dog had some meaning in this singular behavior, and that +this meaning had reference to the flight of one or the other of the late +inmates of the house, was very evident to her. No persuasion, or +coaxing, or even threatening could draw the dog away; and even when Hugo +fired a gun off close to his lead, he quivered in every nerve, but only +moved back a foot or two. Food and drink were brought to him, of which +he partook with a most eager appetite, but no temptation could draw him +any distance from his post. That night was a sleepless one for Mrs. +Dunbar; and it was with a feeling of great relief that she heard the +noise of a carriage early on the following day, and knew that Wiggins +had returned. + +She hurried down at once, and met him in the great hall. In a few words +she told him all. + +For such intelligence as this Wiggins was evidently unprepared. He +staggered back and leaned against the wall, staring at Mrs. Dunbar with +a terrible look. + +“What! Gone!” he said, slowly. “Edith!” + +“Yes; and Leon.” + +“Edith gone!” gasped Wiggins once more. + +“Did you hear nothing in the village?” + +“I drove through without stopping. Did you send to the village?” + +“I did not think that they could have got out of the grounds.” + +“They! There's no trouble about Leon?” + +“I'm afraid--for him,” said Mrs. Dunbar, in a faint voice. + +“For him!” exclaimed Wiggins. “What can happen to him? For her, you +mean.” + +“They must have gone off together.” + +“Together! Do you think Edith would go with _him_? No; she has fled +in her madness and ignorance, turning her back on happiness and love, +and he has pursued her. O Heavens!” he continued, with a groan, “to +think that it should end in this! And cursed be that scoundrel--” + +“Stop!” cried Mrs. Dunbar. “He is not a scoundrel. He would not harm +her. You don't know Leon. He has not left the place; his dog is here.” + +“His dog!” + +Mrs. Dunbar explained. + +Upon this Wiggins went through the hall to the rear, and there, in the +same place as where Mrs. Dunbar last saw him, was the dog. He was lying +down now. He wagged his tail in friendly recognition as they came up. +Wiggins patted him and stroked him and tried to coax him away. The +result was precisely the same as it had been before. The dog received +all advances in the most friendly manner possible. He wagged his tail, +rolled over on his back, licked their hands, sat up on his +hind-quarters, and did every thing which dogs usually do when petted or +played with, but nothing would induce him to leave the place. He did not +appear to be in any trouble. He seemed simply to have made up his mind +to stay there, and this resolution he maintained most obstinately. + +Wiggins could make nothing of it; but the sight of the dog renewed the +terrors of Mrs. Dunbar. + +“I'm afraid,” said she--“I'm afraid that something's happened to Leon.” + +“To Leon!” exclaimed Wiggins, impatiently; “what could happen to him! I +told him to quit this place, and he has probably concluded to do so.” + +“But what do you think of his flight at the same time with Edith?” + +“I don't know what to think of it. I only know this, that if he has +harmed one hair of her head, I--I'll--kill him! My own injuries I will +forgive, but wrongs done to her I will avenge!” + +At this Mrs. Dunbar shrank away, and looked at Wiggins in fear. + +“But it may be all the other way,” said she, in a tremulous voice. +“Edith was terrible in her fury. She was no timid, faltering girl; she +was resolute and vindictive. If he has followed her, or laid hands on +her, she may have--” She hesitated. + +“May have what?” asked Wiggins. + +“She may have done him some harm.” + +“_She_ may have done _him_ some harm!” repeated Wiggins, with +a sneer. “What! and when he had his big dog to protect him? Pooh!” + +And with a scornful laugh he turned away. + +Mrs. Dunbar followed him. + +“She was so terrible in her despair,” said she, as she followed him; +“she looked like a fury--beautiful, yet implacable.” + +“Silence!” cried Wiggins. “Stop all that nonsense, or you'll drive me +mad. Are you crazy? When I am almost broken-hearted in my anxiety about +her, what do you mean by turning against that wronged and injured girl, +who I now see has been driven to despair by my own cursed mistakes, and +pretending that she is the aggressor, and your scoundrel Leon the +victim?” + +In the midst of this Wiggins was interrupted by the approach of Hugo. + +“A genl'man, Sah, wants to see you, Sah,” said he. + +“A gentleman,” repeated Wiggins. “Who is he? How did he come here?” + +“Dunno, Sah, nuffin 'bout dat, Sah.” + +“It's about Edith!” exclaimed Wiggins; and he hurried into the house. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +THE VICAR OF DALTON. + +Wiggins entered the drawing-room, and found his visitor there. He was a +slight man, with light hair, watery gray eyes, and very mild demeanor. +The timidity of the man seemed very marked; there was an apologetic air +about him; and his very footfall as he advanced to greet Wiggins seemed +to deprecate some anticipated rough treatment. He spoke a few words, +and at Wiggins's request to be seated he sat down, while his agitation +increased; and he had that hesitating, half-abstracted manner which +marks the man who is on the point of giving unpleasant information, +about the effect of which he is doubtful. + +Wiggins, on his part, did not seem to notice this. He sat down, and +looked with earnest inquiry at his visitor. He seemed to know what was +the object of this visit, and yet to dread to ask it. + +The visitor had given his name as the Rev. Mr. Munn, and Wiggins +recognized that name as belonging to the parish vicar. That name +excited strange emotions within him, for it was the same name that had +appeared in the papers in connection with Edith's marriage. + +“Well?” said Wiggins at last, in some impatience. + +Mr. Munn cleared his throat. + +“I have come here,” he began, “to tell you very distressing news.” + +Wiggins was silent. + +“I refer to--a--a--Mrs. Dudleigh,” said Mr. Munn. + +“Well?” said Wiggins, in a scarcely audible voice. + +“She is at the village inn.” + +“At the village inn!” repeated Wiggins, in evident agitation, drawing a +long breath. + +“She is alive, then?” he added, eagerly. + +“Oh yes,” said Mr. Munn; “she came there early yesterday morning.” And +then he went on to tell his story, the substance of which was as +follows: + +On the previous morning about dawn the people at the Dalton Inn were +aroused by a hurried knock. On going to the door they found Mrs. +Dudleigh. The moment that the door was opened she sprang in and fell +exhausted to the floor. So great was her weakness that she could not +rise again, and had to be carried up to one of the bedrooms. She was so +faint that she could scarcely speak; and in a feeble voice she implored +them to put her to bed, as it was a long time since she had had any +rest, and was almost dead with fatigue. + +Her condition was most pitiable. Her clothes were all torn to shreds, +and covered with mud and dust; her hands were torn and bleeding; her +shoes had been worn into rags; and she looked as though she had been +wandering for hours through woods and swamps, and over rocks and sand. +To all their inquiries she answered nothing, but only implored them to +put her to bed and let her rest; above all, she prayed most piteously +that they would tell no one that she was there. This they promised to +do; and, indeed, it would have been difficult for them to have informed +about her, since none at the inn had ever seen her before, or had the +remotest idea who she could be. + +Full of pity and sympathy, they put her to bed, and the landlady watched +over her most assiduously. All the morning she slept profoundly; but at +about noon she waked with a scream, like one who has been roused from +some fearful dream. + +After that she grew steadily worse. Fever set in, and became more and +more violent every moment. In their anxiety to do what she had +requested, and keep her secret, they did not send immediately for a +doctor. But her condition soon became such that further delay was out of +the question, so they sent for the village physician. + +When he arrived she was much worse. She was in a high fever, and +already delirious. He pronounced her situation to be dangerous in the +extreme, urged upon them the greatest care, and advised them to lose no +time in letting her friends know about her condition. Here was a dilemma +for these worthy people. They did not know who her friends were, and +therefore could not send for them, while it became impossible to keep +her presence at the inn a secret Not knowing what else to do, they +concluded to send for the vicar. + +When Mr. Munn came he found them in great distress. He soon learned the +facts of the case, and at once decided that it should be made known to +Captain Dudleigh or to Wiggins. For though he did not know Edith's face, +still, from the disconnected words that had dropped from her during her +delirium, reported to him by the inn people, he thought it probable that +she was the very lady whom he had married under such mysterious +circumstances. So he soothed the fears of the landlady as well as he +could, and then left. It was late at night when he went from the inn, +and he had waited till the morning before going to Dalton Hall. He had +some difficulty in getting in at the gate, but when the porter learned +the object of his visit he at once opened to him. From the porter he +learned of the disappearance of Captain Dudleigh also. Nothing was then +left but to see Wiggins. Accordingly he had come to the Hall at once, +so as to tell his message with the shortest possible delay. + +To this recital Wiggins listened with gravity. He made no gesture, and +he spoke no word, but sat with folded arms, looking upon the floor. When +Mr. Munn had ended, he, after a long silence, turned toward him and +said, in a severe tone, + +“Well, Sir, now I hope you see something of the evil of that course +which you chose to pursue.” + +“Evil? course?” stammered Mr. Munn. “I don't understand you.” + +“Oh, I think you understand me,” said Wiggins, gloomily. “Has not your +conscience already suggested to you the probable cause of this strange +course of her whom you call Mrs. Dudleigh?” + +“My conscience!” gasped Mr. Munn; “what has my conscience to do with +it?” + +“How long is it since that wretched mockery at which you officiated?” + asked Wiggins, sternly. + +“I really--I think--a few months only.” + +“A few months,” repeated Wiggins. “Well, it has come to this. That is +the immediate cause of her flight, and of her present suffering.” + +“I--I--married them,” stammered Mr. Munn; “but what of that? Is her +unhappiness my fault? How can I help it? Am I responsible for the future +condition of those couples whom I marry? Surely this is a strange thing +to say.” + +“You well know,” said Wiggins, “what sort of a marriage this was. It was +no common one. It was done in secret. Why did you steal into these +grounds like a thief, and do this infamous thing?” + +“Why--why,” faltered the unhappy vicar, growing more terrified and +conscience-stricken every minute--“Captain Dudleigh asked me. I cannot +refuse to marry people.” + +“No, Sir, you can not when they come to you fairly; you can not, I well +know, when the conditions of the law are satisfied. But was that so +here? Did you not steal into these grounds? Did you not come by night, +in secret, conscious that you were doing wrong, and did you not have to +steal out in the same way? And your only excuse is that Captain Dudleigh +asked you!” + +“He--he--showed very strong reasons why I should do so,” said Mr. Munn, +who by this time was fearfully agitated--“very strong reasons, I do +assure you, Sir, and all my humanity was--a--aroused.” + +“Your humanity?” sneered Wiggins. “Where was your humanity for her?” + +“For her!” exclaimed the vicar. “Why, she wanted it. She loved him.” + +“Loved him! Pooh! She hated him worse than the devil.” + +“Then what did she marry him for?” cried Mr. Munn, at his wits' end. + +“Never mind,” said Wiggins; “you went out of your way to do a deed the +consequences of which can not yet be seen. I can understand, Sir, how +Captain Dudleigh could have planned this thing; but how you, a calm, +quiet clergyman, in the full possession of your faculties, could have +ever been led to take part in it, is more than I can comprehend. I, Sir, +was her guardian, appointed as such by her father, my own intimate +friend. Captain Dudleigh was a villain. He sought out this thoughtless +child merely for her money. It was not her that he wanted, but her +estate. I could easily have saved her from this danger. He had no chance +with me. But you come forward--you, Sir--suddenly, without cause, +without a word of warning--you sneak here in the dark, you entice her to +that lonely place, and there you bind her body and soul to a scoundrel. +Now, Sir, what have you got to say for yourself!” + +Mr. Munn's teeth chattered, and his hands clutched one another +convulsively. “Captain Dudleigh told me that she was under restraint +here by--by you--and that she loved him, and that her only refuge was to +be married to him. I'm sure I didn't mean to do any harm.” + +“Rubbish!” said Wiggins, contemptuously. “The law gives a guardian a +certain right to parental restraint for the good of the ward. The slight +restraint to which she was subjected was accompanied by the deepest love +of those who cared for her here. I had hoped, Sir, that you might have +something different to tell me. I did not know that you had actually +acted so madly. I thought the story which I heard of that marriage was +incredible, and I have always spoken of it as a mockery. But from what I +now gather from you, it seems to have been a _bona fide_ marriage, +true and valid.” + +“I--I'm afraid it--it was,” said Mr. Munn. + +Wiggins gave something that was almost like a groan. + +“Friends,” he cried, passionately, rising from his chair--“friends from +the bottomless pit could not have more foully and fatally deceived that +poor, thoughtless, trustful child. But all their trickery and treachery +could never have succeeded had they not found a paltry tool in a +senseless creature like you--you, Sir--who could stand there and go +mumbling your marriage service, and never see the infernal jugglery that +was going on under your very eyes. Yes, you, Sir, who now come to wring +and break my heart by the awful tidings that you now tell me. Away! +Begone! I have already borne more than my share of anguish; but this, if +it goes on, will kill me or drive me mad!” + +He turned away, with his head bent, with an unsteady step, and walked +toward the window, where he stood leaning against it heavily, and +staring out at vacancy. + +As for Mr. Munn, he gave one glance of horror at Wiggins, and then, with +a swift, frightened step, he hurried from the Hall. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +THE HOUSE OF REFUGE + +The illness of Edith was of no light or common kind. Her old glow of +health had not yet returned. The state of affairs at Dalton Hall had +retarded any thing like a complete recovery, and when she started off on +her desperate flight, she was unfit for such a venture. Through that +terrible night she had undergone what might have laid low a strong man, +and the strength which had barely carried her to the door of the inn had +there left her utterly; and so fierce was the attack that was now made +upon her by this new illness that recovery seemed scarce possible. + +The doctor was as non-committal as doctors usually are in a really +dangerous case. It was evident, however, from the first, that her +situation awakened in his mind the very deepest anxiety. He urged the +landlady to keep the house in the quietest possible condition, and to +see that she was never left without attendants. This the landlady +promised to do, and was unremitting in her attentions. + +But all the care of the attendants seemed useless. Deeper and deeper +Edith descended into the abyss of suffering. Day succeeded to day, and +found her worse. Fortunately she was not conscious of what she had to +endure; but in that unconsciousness her mind wandered in delirium, and +all the sorrows of the past were lived over again. + +They knew not, those good kind souls who waited and watched at her +bedside, what it was that thus rose before her, and distressed her in +the visions of her distempered brain, but they could see that these were +the result of deep grief and long sorrow, and therefore they pitied her +more than ever. As her mind thus wandered, she talked incessantly, often +in broken words, but often also in long connected sentences, and all +these were intermingled with moans and sighs. + +“This is a heart-rending,” said the doctor once. “It is her mind, poor +lady, that has brought on this illness. In this case medicine is of no +use. You can do more than I can. You must watch over her, and keep her +as quiet as she can be kept.” + +All of which the landlady promised more fervently than ever, and kept +her promise too. + +But in spite of all this care, the fever and the delirium grew worse. +The events of her Dalton life rose before her to the exclusion of all +other memories, and filled all her thoughts. In her fancies she again +lived that life of mingled anxiety and fear, and chafed and raged and +trembled by turns at the restraint which she felt around her. Then she +tried to escape, but escape was impossible. Then she seemed to speak +with some one who promised deliverance. Eagerly and earnestly she +implored this one to assist her, and mentioned plans of escape. + +Most of all, however, her thoughts turned to that scene in the Dalton +vaults. The dead seemed all around. Amidst the darkness she saw the +ghost of her ancestors. They frowned menacingly upon her, as on one who +was bringing dishonor upon a noble name. They pointed at her scornfully +with their wan fingers. Deep moans showed the horror of her soul, but +amidst these moans she protested that she was innocent. + +Then her flight from the Hall came up before her. She seemed to be +wandering through woods and thickets and swamps, over rocks and fallen +trees. + +“Shall I never get out?” she murmured. “Shall I never get to the wall? +I shall perish in this forest. I am sinking in this mire.” + +Then she saw some enemy. “It is he!” she murmured, in low thrilling +tones. “He is coming! I will never go back--no, never! I will die +first! I have my dagger--I will kill him! He shall never take me +there--never, never, never! I will kill him--I will kill him!” + +After which came a low groan, followed by a long silence. + +So she went on in her agony, but her delirious words carried no +connected meaning to her attendants. They could only look at one another +inquiringly, and shake their heads. “She has been unhappy in her married +life, poor dear,” said the landlady once, with a sigh; and this seemed +to be the general impression, and the only one which they gathered from +her words. + +Thus a fortnight passed away. + +At length the lowest stage of the disease was reached. It was the +turning-point, and beyond that lay either death or recovery. All night +long the landlady watched beside the bed of the poor sufferer, who now +lay in a deep sleep, scarce breathing, while the doctor, who came in at +midnight, remained till morning. + +Morning came at length, and Edith awaked. The delirium had passed. She +looked around inquiringly, but could recall nothing. + +“Auntie dear,” she said, feebly, “where are you?” + +“There isn't no auntie, dear,” said the landlady, gently. “You are at +Dalton Inn But don't speak, dearie--you are too weak.” + +“Dalton Inn,” repeated Edith, in a faint voice. She looked puzzled, for +she was as yet too confused to remember. Gradually however, memory +awaked, and though the recollection of her illness was a blank, yet the +awful life that she had lived, and her flight from that life, with all +its accompaniments, came gradually back. + +She looked at the landlady with a face of agony. + +“Promise,” said she, faintly. + +“Promise what, dearie?” + +“Promise--that--you will not--send me away.” + +“Lord love you! send you away? Not me.” + +“Promise,” said Edith, in feverish impatience, “that you will not let +them take me--till I want to go.” + +“Never; no one shall touch a hair of your head, dearie--till you wish +it.” + +The tone of the landlady gave Edith even more confidence than her words. +“God bless you!” she sighed, and turned her head away. + +A week passed, and Edith continued to get better every day. Although her +remembrances were bitter and her thoughts most distressing, yet there +was something in her present situation which was, on the whole, +conducive to health. For the first time in many months she felt herself +free from that irksome and galling control which had been so maddening +to her proud nature. Her life in Dalton Hall had been one long +struggle, in which her spirit had chafed incessantly at the barriers +around it, and had well-nigh worn itself out in maintaining its +unconquerable attitude. Now all this was over. She trusted this honest +and tender-hearted landlady. It was the first frank and open face which +she had seen since she left school. She knew that here at last she would +have rest, at least until her recovery. What she might do then was +another question, but the answer to this she chose to put off. + +But all this time, while Edith had been lying prostrate and senseless at +the inn, a great and mighty excitement had arisen and spread throughout +the country, and all men were discussing one common subject--the +mysterious disappearance of Captain Dudleigh. + +He had become well known in the village, where he had resided for some +time. His rank, his reputed wealth, and his personal appearance had all +made him a man of mark. His marriage with Miss Dalton, who was known to +be his cousin, had been publicly announced, and had excited very general +surprise, chiefly because it was not known that Miss Dalton had +returned. The gentry had not called on the bride, however, partly on +account of the cloud that hung over the Dalton name, but more especially +on account of the air of mystery that hung about the marriage, and the +impression that was prevalent that calls were not expected. + +The marriage had been largely commented upon, but had been generally +approved. It had taken place within the family, and the stain on the +Dalton name could thus be obliterated by merging it with that of +Dudleigh. It seemed, therefore, wise and appropriate and politic, and +the reserve of the married couple was generally considered as a mark of +delicacy, good taste, and graceful respect for public opinion. + +Captain Dudleigh had at first been associated with a friend and relative +of his, Lieutenant Dudleigh, who had made himself quite popular in the +outside world. Neither of them, however, had gone into society. It was +understood that Lieutenant Dudleigh had come simply for the purpose of +being the captain's groomsman, and when, after the marriage, he +disappeared, nothing more was thought about him. + +Occupying as he did this place in the attention of the county people, +Captain Dudleigh's disappearance created an excitement which can easily +he imagined. Who first started the report could not be found out, but no +sooner had it been started than it spread like wild-fire. + +Moreover, in spite of the landlady's care, they had heard of Edith's +flight and illness, and naturally associated these two startling facts +together. The Dalton name was already covered with deep disgrace, and +that another tragedy should take place in connection with it was felt to +be very natural. Week after week passed on, and still there were no +tidings of the missing man. With the lapse of each week the excitement +only increased. Throughout the whole county this was the common topic +of conversation. It was matter for far more than the ordinary nine +days' wonder, for about this there was the fascination and the horror of +an impenetrable mystery. + +For it was universally felt that in some way or other this mystery was +connected with Edith, and that its solution lay with her. It was +universally known that she had fled from Dalton Hall in a most +suspicious and unaccountable manner, and that Captain Dudleigh had +disappeared on that very night. It was natural, therefore, that every +body should think of her as being, to some extent at least, aware of the +fate of Dudleigh, and that she alone could account for it. + +And so the excitement grew stronger and stronger every day. Gradually +the whole public came to know something about the circumstances of the +ill-fated marriage. There seemed to be some power at work which sent +forth fresh intelligence at various intervals to excite the public mind. +It was not Wiggins, for he kept himself in strict seclusion; and people +who went to stare at the gates of Dalton Park found nothing for their +pains. It could not have been the vicar, for his terror had reduced him +to a state of simple imbecility. There was some other cause, and that +cause seemed always at work. + +From this mysterious cause, then, the public gained a version of the +story of that marriage, which was circulated every where. Miss Dalton, +it was said, had fallen in love with Captain Dudleigh, but her guardian, +Wiggins, had resisted her inclinations. She determined to get married in +spite of him, and Captain Dudleigh had a clergyman brought into the +park, who performed the ceremony secretly. After the marriage, however, +it was said, Captain Dudleigh treated his wife badly, and clamored for +money to pay his debts. His wife suspected that he had married her for +this sole purpose. They quarreled incessantly. Her health broke down +through grief and disappointment, and she was ill for a long time. After +her recovery they had several stormy interviews, in which she had +threatened his life. It was said that she always carried a dagger, with +which she had sworn to kill him. She had told him to his face that she +would have “_his heart's blood_.” + +Such was the story that circulated far and wide among all classes. None +had seen Edith personally except the doctor and those at the inn; and +the general impression about her was that she was a fierce, bold, +impetuous woman, with iron resolution and masculine temper. So, on the +whole, public opinion ran high against her, and profound sympathy was +felt for the injured husband. + +All this was not confined to the county. The metropolitan papers had +mentioned it and discussed it, and the “_Continued Disappearance of +Captain Dudleigh_” was for a long time the standing heading of many +paragraphs. + +But during all this time Edith remained at the inn in complete +seclusion, recovering slowly hut surely. In that seclusion she was +utterly ignorant of the excitement which she had caused, and, indeed, +was not aware that she was talked of at all. The papers were all kindly +kept out of her sight, and as she had never been accustomed to read +them, she never thought of asking for them. + +But the public feeling had at last reached that point at which it +demanded, with resistless voice, an inquiry after the missing man. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +THE OLD WELL. + +Public feeling had grown so strong that it could no longer be +disregarded, and the authorities had to take up the case. It was +enforced upon their attention in many ways. The whole county urged it +upon them, and journals of note in different parts of the kingdom +denounced their lethargy. Under these circumstances they were compelled +to take some action. + +Wiggins had foreseen this, and to guard against this necessity he had +himself done all in his power to search after the missing man. He had +put the case in the hands of detectives, who had carried on an +investigation in all quarters, and in every possible way; but to no +purpose, and with no result. When at length the authorities came, he +informed them of his search and its failure, but assured them that he +still believed that Captain Dudleigh was alive. His theory was that, +being heavily in debt, he had taken this mode of eluding his creditors, +and after causing it to be believed that he was dead, he had quietly +disappeared, and was now enjoying himself somewhere on the Continent. +No one else, however, shared this opinion, and those who came to the +search had no doubt that the missing man had been murdered. So they +instituted a regular search over the whole estate. They began with the +Hall, and went through every part of it. Then they turned their +attention to the grounds These were extensive, and it seemed probable +that somewhere among the groves or swamps the remains might be found. +They searched the chapel and the vaults. They dragged the pond in front +of the house. In all this Wiggins lent his active assistance toward +furthering the ends of justice, but at the same time retained the +firmest conviction that it was a trick of Dudleigh's, and that he was +now in foreign parts. + +At length some of those who had been going the rounds of the wall +returned to the house, carrying something, the sight of which produced a +profound excitement. It was the hook and rope by which Edith, had sought +to escape. They found it hanging upon the wall, and every one recognized +at a glance the intention of this rope-ladder. But the thing that +produced the strongest excitement was something else. They had found it +lying among the grass at the foot of the ladder, having evidently been +dropped by some fugitive as an impediment, or thrown away as useless. It +was a dagger, which, from being so long exposed to the weather, was +covered with rust, but was still sharp and deadly. + +This dagger seemed at once to confirm the general impression. It showed +that one of the fugitives of that night--the one who had escaped--had +been armed with a deadly weapon. Every one knew who the one was who had +escaped. Every one had already suspected her. Her wild flight, her +terrible agitation, her long illness--all had been known. What else +could cause such a state of things but the dread remembrance of some +dark crime? And now this dagger lay before them, the silent proof of the +guilt of her who had left it there. + +Upon Wiggins the effect was crushing. His tongue was paralyzed. He kept +aloof after that, with despair on his face, and surveyed the proceedings +at a distance. Not so Mrs. Dunbar. All this time she had been feverish +and agitated, sometimes following the officers, at other times retiring. +Upon her the sight of that dagger acted like something that confirmed +the worst of her fears, and she burst forth into wild wails and +lamentations. She then urged the officers to renewed search, and +finally told them all about her own discovery of the empty rooms on that +eventful morning, and the singular behavior of the dog. + +The mention of this created new excitement, and they at once asked where +the dog now was. + +Mrs. Dunbar did not know. The dog had disappeared most mysteriously, and +they had seen nothing of him for a long time. + +They then asked to be taken to the place where the dog had stationed +himself. Mrs. Dunbar, still wild with excitement, led the way there. +Arriving at the spot, they examined it narrowly, but found nothing. It +was grass, which had not been touched for years. No body lay buried +beneath that old turf, as was plainly evident. They then went to the +out-houses, toward which Mrs. Dunbar told them the dog had kept his +face, turned for some time when she had first seen him; but here they +found nothing whatever. + +It was now late, and they began to think of retiring, when suddenly one +of the party, who had been walking in the rear of the stables, gave a +call which drew them all in that direction. Upon reaching him they found +him standing at the edge of a pit, which looked like an old well. Over +this there was still the frame of what had been the well-house, and the +well itself was very deep. Kneeling, they all peered into the black +depths beneath them, but discovered nothing. One of them dropped a +stone, and the sound far below showed that the bottom lay at least sixty +or eighty feet from the surface. + +“How long since this well has been used?” asked the sheriff. + +“Many years,” said Mrs. Dunbar. + +“Did you examine it?” + +“We never thought of doing so.” + +“Well, we may as well try it. Can we have a rope?” + +“Certainly,” said Mrs. Dunbar, who at once went to the house, and soon +returned with Hugo, who carried a long stout rope. + +Now it remained to explore the well, and to do this it would be +necessary for some one to descend. But no difficulty was found in this. +By this time all had been stimulated to the highest degree by the +excitement of the search, and there was something in the look of the +well which made it seem like the very place for the hurried disposal of +a body. Here, then, they were all convinced, if any where, they would be +sure to come upon that which they sought. Accordingly several +volunteered to go down; but the sheriff chose from among them the one +who seemed fittest for that purpose, and to the others was allotted the +task of lowering him. Some further time was taken up in making the +necessary preparations for this; but at length these were all completed, +and the man who was to go down, after binding one end of the rope about +his chest and giving the other end to his companions, prepared to +descend. + +The well was not very wide, and was lined around its sides with rough +stones. In the interstices between these he inserted his feet and hands, +and thus he let himself down, descending gradually. + +The others knelt around the mouth of the well, holding the rope, and +letting it pass through their hands as their companion descended, +peering silently into the dark with eager eyes, and listening +breathlessly to the dull sounds made by the man below as he descended +further and further. + +At last all was still. From below there came no sound. He had reached +the bottom. More anxiously than ever they tried to pierce through the +gloom, but that gloom was impenetrable. Their companion delayed long. +They began to feel uneasy. + +At length they heard sounds, and knew that he was ascending. With what +intelligence? What had he found in that awful abyss? This was the +question which was suggested to every heart, but a question which no one +could answer They lent their assistance, and pulled at the rope to help +their companion. Nearer and nearer he came, and still nearer, until at +last he was within reach. A few moments more and he emerged from the +mouth of the well, and falling forward, he lay for a moment motionless. + +They all rushed to his assistance, but he shook them off and rose to his +feet. + +“Did you find any thing?” + +“Yes,” said the man, in a hollow voice. + +“What?” cried all, in breathless suspense. + +“You shall see. Bring lights here, somebody. It's getting too dark for +this business.” + +Hugo was at once dispatched to the Hall by Mrs. Dunbar for lights. There +was by this time every necessity for them. Much time had been taken up +with their preparations, and the shadows of evening had already gathered +about them. While Hugo was gone they all questioned their companion, +but he refused to say any thing. + +“Don't ask me,” he replied. “Wait and see for yourselves.” + +At this answer there was but one conviction in the minds of all, which +was that the object of their search had been found. But there was now +no further delay. Hugo soon returned with a lantern, and the man +prepared to descend once more. The lantern he hung about his neck, and +taking another piece of rope with him, the end of which was left with +those above, he again went down. This time he was gone longer than +before. Those above peering through the gloom could see a faint light +far below, and the shadowy outline of their companion. + +At length he began to ascent, and in due time reached the top. + +“There,” said he; “you may pull on that line. I have fastened it so +that it'll hold.” + +Saying this, he flung himself exhausted on the grass, and unslung the +lantern and unbound the rope. + +The others pulled. There was a heavy weight at the end of the rope. +They could all conjecture well what that dead-weight might be. But the +fierce curiosity that now animated them stimulated them to put forth all +their strength in a series of vigorous pulls. Nearer and nearer came +that weight to the top. At last it hung just beneath them. Half a +dozen hands were stretched out, and in an instant it was jerked out and +lay upon the grass. + +The sheriff seized the lantern and held it up. The scene was one of +horror. All around was the gloom of night, the shadowy outline of trees +and of the out-houses. A flickering light revealed a group of men +surrounding some object on the grass, upon which they gazed in silent +awe. + +It was a shapeless, sodden mass, but the human outline was preserved, +and the clothes were there, recognizable. It was a grisly, a hideous +sight, and it held them all spellbound. + +But suddenly the silence was broken. A wild shriek burst forth from +Mrs. Dunbar, who the next instant fell forward upon the hideous object. +Hugo seized her and raised her up. She was senseless. + +“What is this?” cried the stern voice of Wiggins, who at that moment had +come to the place. + +“Mrs. Dunbar has fainted,” said the sheriff; and then he pointed +silently to the Thing that lay in the midst of the circle of spectators. + +Wiggins looked at it, and seemed turned to stone. Then a shudder passed +through him. Then he turned away. + +As he walked he staggered like one who has received some terrible blow, +and staggering on in his way, he passed out of sight into the gloom. +After this Mrs. Dunbar was carried into the house by Hugo. + +There was silence for a long time. + +“The head is gone!” said the sheriff at +length, in a low voice. + +“Yes,” said another; “it's been long in the water.” + +“Water couldn't do it,” said the sheriff; “it was gone before it went +into the water.” + +“What was that for?” + +“To prevent identification,” said the sheriff, in a significant tone. + +The remains were in due time conveyed to an appropriate place, together +with the rope and the dagger. On the following day a search was made +for the missing head. The well was pumped dry, a task in which there +was little difficulty, as there was little more than two feet of water +in it, but nothing of the kind was found. Then they dragged the pond, +but without result. The search was also continued elsewhere, but it was +equally unsuccessful. + +It was then concluded that the murderer had removed the head of his +victim to prevent identification, and had buried it somewhere, but that +the traces of burial had been obliterated by the lapse of time. The only +wonder was that the clothes should have been allowed to remain by one +who had been so much on his guard as to decapitate his victim. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + +THE CORONER'S INQUEST. + +The remains were deposited in a proper place, and a coroner's inquest +was held at once, at which the usual examination of witnesses was +conducted. + +Wiggins was examined first. He showed great constraint. He had not much +to say, however, about the disappearance of Captain Dudleigh, for he had +been absent at that time, and he could only state what took place after +his return. But in the course of these inquiries much was extorted from +him relative to Edith's position at Dalton Hall, her marriage, and the +terms on which she had been living with her husband. His answers were +given with extreme hesitation and marked reluctance, and it was only by +the utmost persistence that they were wrung from him. + +The porter was examined, and in the course of the inquiry that scene at +the gates when Edith tried to escape was revealed. + +Hugo was examined. It was found out that he had overheard the +conversation between Edith and Captain Dudleigh at their last interview. +Hugo's answers were given with as much reluctance as those of Wiggins, +but he was not able to evade the questions, and all that he knew was +drawn from him. But Hugo's remembrance of words was not very accurate, +and he could not give any detailed report of the conversation which he +had overheard. Several things, however, had been impressed upon his +memory. One was the occasion when Edith drew a dagger upon Captain +Dudleigh, and left the room with it in her hand; another was when, in +her last interview with him, she menaced his life, and threatened to +have his “_heart's blood_.” So it was that Hugo had understood +Edith's words. + +Mrs. Dunbar was examined, and gave her testimony with less hesitation. +She was deathly pale, and weak and miserable. She spoke with difficulty, +but was eager to bear witness to the noble character of Captain +Dudleigh. She certainly showed nothing like hate toward Edith, but at +the same time showed no hesitation to tell all about her. She told +about Captain Dudleigh's first visits, and about the visits of his +friend, who had assumed his name, or had the same name. She told how +Edith had been warned, and how she scorned the warning. From her was +elicited the story of Edith's return after her marriage, her illness, +recovery, and desperate moods, in which she seemed transformed, as Mrs. +Dunbar expressed it, to a “fury.” The account of her discovery of the +flight of Edith and the captain was given with much emotion, but with +simple truth. + +Mr. Munn was also examined about the marriage. He had not yet recovered +from the agitation into which he had been thrown during his interview +with Wiggins, but seemed in a state of chronic fright. + +After these witnesses one other yet remained. It was one whose +connection with these events was the closest of all--one upon whom that +jury already looked as guilty of a terrible crime--as the one who had +inflicted with her own hand that death whose cause they were +investigating. + +There was no doubt now in any mind. The remains had been identified by +all the witnesses. The head had been removed, and had not been found, +but the clothes were known to all. By these they judged the remains to +be the body of Captain Dudleigh. Wiggins alone hesitated--but it was +only hesitation; it was not denial. + +When Edith was summoned before the coroner's jury, it was the very first +intelligence that she had received of an event in which she was so +deeply concerned. The landlady had heard all about the search and its +results; but true to her determination to spare Edith all trouble, she +had not allowed any news of these proceedings to be communicated to her. +When the official appeared with his abrupt summons to attend, the shock +was terrible, but there was nothing left except submission. A few brief +answers to her hurried and agitated questions put her in possession of +the chief facts of the case. On her way to the place she said not a +word. The landlady went with her to take care of her, but Edith did not +take any notice of her. + +As she entered the room where the examination was going on, the scene +that presented itself was one which might well have appalled a stouter +heart than that of Edith, and which, coming as it did after the shock of +this sudden surprise, and in the train of all that she had already +suffered, gave to her a sharp pang of intolerable anguish, and filled +her soul with horror unspeakable. + +[Illustration: “WITH A LOUD CRY, SHE HALF TURNED.”] + +The rope-ladder lay there with its hook, with which she had effected her +escape, and beside these was the dagger which more than once she had +interposed between herself and her fierce aggressor; but it was not +these that she saw; something else was there which fixed and enchained +her gaze, which held her with a terrible fascination. A sheet was +thrown over it, but the outlines of that which lay beneath indicated a +human form, and the information which Edith had already received made +her well aware whose that form was supposed to be. But she said nothing; +she stood rigid, horror-stricken, overwhelmed, and looked at it with +staring eyes and white lips. + +The coroner made some remarks, consisting of the usual formulas, +something like an apology for the examination, a hint that it might +possibly affect herself, and a warning that she should be very careful +not to say any thing that might inculpate herself. + +To all this Edith paid no attention. She did not appear to have heard +it. She stood, as the coroner spoke, in the same attitude as before, +with her eyes set in the same rigid stare. As the coroner ceased, he +stepped forward and drew away the sheet. + +There it lay at last--unveiled, revealed to her eyes--the abhorrent +Thing, whose faint outline had chilled her very soul, its aspect +hideous, frightful, unendurable! As the sheet fell away, and all was +revealed before her, she could restrain herself no longer; the strain +was too great; with a loud cry, she half turned and tried to run. The +next instant the landlady caught her as she was falling senseless to the +floor. + +The examination of Mrs. Dudleigh was postponed. On the whole, however, +it was afterward considered unnecessary. Enough had been gathered from +the other witnesses to enable the jury to come to a conclusion. It was +felt, also, that Mrs. Dudleigh ought to have a chance; though they +believed her guilty, they felt sorry for her, and did not wish her to +criminate herself by any rash words. The result was that they brought in +a verdict of murder against Mrs. Leon Dudleigh. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + +A STRANGE CONFESSION + +The news of Edith's arrest spread like wild-fire, and the event became +soon the subject of universal conversation. Rumors of all sorts arose, +as is natural under such circumstances, most of which were adverse to +the accused. People remembered against the daughter the crimes of the +father. It was _bad blood_, they said, which she had inherited; it +was an evil race to which she belonged, and the murderous tendency was +hereditary. + +The examination at the inquest had made known the general facts of her +story, out of which public gossip constructed another story to suit +itself. + +Mrs. Dudleigh had been found troublesome and dangerous all along, so +much so that it became necessary to keep her within the grounds. When +Captain Dudleigh was paying attentions to her, she treated him with +perfect brutality. On one occasion she struck him with her whip, and +tried to run away. Captain Dudleigh had sent his friend, or relative, +Lieutenant Dudleigh, to bring about a reconciliation. This was so well +managed that the two resumed their former relations, and she even +consented to make a runaway match with him. This, however, was not out +of love so much as to spite her guardian. + +After this marriage she took a violent dislike to her husband, and +pretended to be ill, or perhaps suffered real illness, the natural +result of her fierce, unbridled temper. Her husband found it impossible +to live with her. The few interviews which they had were very stormy. +Over and over again she threatened his life. At length she beguiled him +into the park on some unknown pretext, and there, with that dagger which +she had so often flourished in his face, she shed that very _“heart's +blood”_ which she had threatened to take. The murder was evidently a +preconcerted act. She must have done it deliberately, for she had +prepared the means of secret escape. She deliberately tried to conceal +her act, and after removing his head, and burying it, she had thrown the +body into the old well. But _“murder will out,”_ etc., etc.; and +with this and other similar maxims Edith's condemnation was settled by +the public mind. + +Thus Edith was in prison, held there under a terrible charge, for which +there was proof that was appalling in its character. The body found and +identified seemed to plead against her; circumstances inculpated her; +motives were assigned to her sufficiently strong to cause the act; her +own words and acts all tended to confirm her guilt. + +After all, however, this last blow was not so crushing a one as some +others which she had received in the course of her life. The most +terrible moment perhaps had been that one when she was taken and +confronted with the horrible remains. After that shock had subsided she +rallied somewhat; and when her arrest took place she was not unprepared. + +If the shock of the arrest had thus been less severe than might be +supposed, so also was she less affected by her imprisonment than another +person would have been in such a situation. The reason of this is +evident. She had endured so much that this seemed an inferior +affliction. The anguish which she had known could not be increased by +this. At Dalton Hall she had become habituated to imprisonment, and of a +far more galling kind to her than this. She had been in the power of a +tyrant, at his mercy, and shut out from all means of communicating with +the world at large. Her soul had perpetually fretted and chafed against +the barriers by which she was confined, and the struggle within herself +was incessant. Afterward there had been the worse infliction of that +mock marriage, and the unspeakable dread of a new tyrant who called +himself her husband. No prison could equal the horrors which she had +known at Dalton Hall. Here in the jail her situation was at least known. +From Wiggins she was saved; from her false husband rescued forever. She +was now not in the power of a private tyrant, exercising his usurped +authority over her from his own desire, and with his will as his only +law; but she was in the hands of the nation, and under the power of the +national law. So, after all, she knew less grief in that prison cell +than in the more luxurious abode of Dalton Hall, less sorrow, less +despair. Her mood was a calm and almost apathetic one, for the great +griefs which she had already endured had made her almost indifferent to +anything that life might yet have to offer. + +Two days after her arrest word was brought to Edith that a lady wished +to see her. Full of wonder who it could be, and in doubt whether it +could be Miss Plympton, or only Mrs. Dunbar, Edith eagerly directed that +the visitor should be admitted. + +Thereupon a lady dressed in black entered the chamber. A heavy black +veil was over her face, which she raised as she entered, and stood +before Edith with downcast eyes. + +There was something in that face which seemed strangely familiar to +Edith, and yet she found herself quite unable to think who the lady +could be. She thought over all the faces that she had known in her +school days. She thought over the faces at Dalton Hall. Suddenly, as +the lady raised her eyes, there was an additional revelation in them +which at once told Edith all. + +She started back in amazement. + +“Lieutenant Dudleigh!” she cried. + +The lady bowed her head, and said, in a low voice, + +“Fortescue is my real name.” + +[Illustration: “BUT EVEN NOW I WOULD BE WILLING TO DIE FOR HIM.”] + +A suspicion of this sort had once flashed across Edith's mind. It was +during the altercation at the Dalton chapel. Still, as this suspicion +was thus confirmed, her surprise was extreme, and she said not a word, +but looked steadily at her. And in the midst of other thoughts and +feelings she could not help seeing that great changes had come over Miss +Fortescue, as she called herself, in addition to those which were +consequent upon her resumption of feminine attire. She was pale and +thin, and looked ten years older than she used to look. Evidently she +had undergone great suffering. There were marks of deep grief on her +face. Much Edith marveled to see that one who had acted so basely was +capable of suffering such grief. She could not help being reminded of +that expression which she had seen on this same face when they were +arranging that false marriage; but now that deep remorse which then had +appeared seemed stamped permanently there, together with a profound +dejection that was like despair. All this was not without its effect on +Edith. It disarmed her natural indignation, and even excited pity. + +“Miss Dalton,” said the visitor, in a voice that was quite different +from the one which she remembered--a voice that was evidently her +natural one, while that other must have been assumed--“Miss Dalton, I +have come to try to do something, if possible, toward making amends +for--for a frightful injury. I know well that amends can never be made; +but at least I can do a little. Will you listen to me for a few moments, +not with regard to me, but solely for your own sake?” + +Edith said nothing, but bowed her head slightly. She did not yet know +how far this betrayer might be sincere, and wished to hear and judge for +herself. + +“Will you let me, first of all, make a confession to you of my great +sin?” she continued, slowly and painfully. “You will understand better +your own present situation. I assure you it will be a help to you +toward freeing yourself. I don't ask you to believe--I only ask you to +listen.” + +Edith again bowed. + +“I will tell you all, then. I was an actress in London; my name was +Fortescue. I was a celebrity at Covent Garden. It was there that I +first met Captain Dudleigh. I need say no more about him than this: I +loved him passionately, with a frenzy and a devotion that you can not +understand, and my fate is this--that I love him yet. I know that he is +a coward and a villain and a traitor, but even now I would be willing to +die for him.” + +The voice was different--how different!--and the tone and manner still +more so. The careless “Little Dudleigh” had changed into a being of +passion and ardor and fire. Edith tried to preserve an incredulous state +of mind, but in vain. She could not help feeling that there was no +acting here. This at least was real. This devoted love could not be +feigned. + +“He swore he loved me,” continued Miss Fortescue. “He asked me to be his +wife. We were married.” + +“Married!” cried Edith, in a tone of profoundest agitation. + +“Yes,” said Miss Fortescue, solemnly, “we were married. But listen. I +believed that the marriage was real. He told some story about his +friends being unwilling--about his father, who, he said, would disown +him if he found it out. He urged a private marriage, without any public +announcement. He knew a young clergyman, he said, who would do him that +favor. For my part I had not the slightest objection. I loved him too +well to care about a formal wedding. So we were married in his rooms, +with a friend of his for witness. + +“He set up a modest little house, where we lived for about a year. At +first my life was one of perfect happiness, but gradually I saw a change +coming over him. He was terribly in debt, and was afraid of utter ruin. +From hints that dropped from him, I began to suspect that he meditated +some sort of treachery toward me. Then, for the first time, I was +alarmed at the privacy of our marriage. Still, I was afraid to say any +thing to him, for fear that it might hasten any treachery toward me +which he might meditate. I loved him as dearly as ever, but I found out +that he was base and unprincipled, and felt that he was capable of any +thing. I had to content myself with watching him, and at the same time +tried to be as cheerful as possible. + +“At length he heard about you, and came to Dalton. His father sent him, +he said. I followed him here. At first he was angry, but I persuaded him +to take me as an assistant. He did not want to be known at the Hall, +for he wished to see first what could be done with Wiggins. He made me +disguise myself as a man, and so I called myself Lieutenant Dudleigh. He +went to Dalton Hall, and discovered that the porter was some old +criminal who had done his crime on the Dudleigh estates--poaching, I +think, or murder, or both. On seeing Wiggins, he was able to obtain some +control over him--I don't know what. He never would tell me. + +“By this time I found out what I had all along suspected--that he came +here for your sake. He was terribly in debt. A dark abyss lay before +him. He began to feel me to be an incumbrance. He began to wish that he +was a free man, so that he might marry you. I saw all this with a grief +that I can not tell. + +“We made several calls on you. I went as his mother, Mrs. Mowbray.” + +“Mrs. Mowbray! You!” exclaimed Edith, in wonder. + +“Did I act my part well?” said Miss Fortescue, mournfully. “It was an +easy enough part. I believe I succeeded in making myself utterly +detestable. Captain Dudleigh was bitterly vexed at my manner. He wanted +me to gain your confidence. That, however, I could not yet bring myself +to do. His own intercourse with you was even worse. Your attempt to +escape was a terrible blow to his hopes. Yet he dared not let you +escape. That would have destroyed his plans utterly. You would have +gone to your friends--to Miss Plympton--and you would have found out +things about him which would have made his projects with reference to +you out of the question.” + +“Miss Plympton!” cried Edith. “How could I have gone to her? She is +away.” + +“That was one of my lies,” said Miss Fortescue. “Unfortunately, she is +really ill, but she is still in the country, at her school. I myself +went there to tell her about you only two days ago, but found that she +had been ill for some time, and could not see any one.” + +Edith sighed heavily. For an instant hope had come, and then it had died +out. + +“He made me go again to see you, but with what result you know. I was +fairly driven away at last. This made him terribly enraged against you +and against me, but I quieted him by reminding him that it was only his +own fault. It brought about a change in his plans, however, and forced +him to put me more prominently forward. Then it was that he devised +that plan by which I was to go and win your confidence. I can not speak +of it; you know it all. I wish merely to show you what the pressure was +that he put on me. + +“'Dear wife,' said he to me one day, in his most affectionate tone--'my +own Lucy, you know all about my affairs, and you know that I am utterly +ruined. If I can not do something to save myself, I see no other +resource but to blow my brains out. I will do it, I swear I will, if I +can not get out of these scrapes. My father will not help me. He has +paid all my debts twice, and won't do it again. Now I have a proposal to +make. It's my only hope. You can help me. If you love me, you will do +so. Help me in this, and then you will bind your husband to you by a tie +that will be stronger than life. If you will not do this simple thing, +you will doom me to death, for I swear I will kill myself, or at least, +if not that, I will leave you forever, and go to some place where I can +escape my creditors.' + +“This was the way that he forced his plan upon me. You know what it was. +I was to see you, and do--what was done. + +“'You are my wife,' said he, earnestly. 'I can not marry her--I don't +want to--but I do want to get money. Let me have the control of the +Dalton estates long enough to get out of my scrapes. You can't be +jealous of her. She hates me. I hate her, and love you--yes, better than +life. When she finds out that I am married to her she will hate me still +more. The marriage is only a form, only a means of getting money, so +that I may live with my own true wife, my darling Lucy, in peace, and +free from this intolerable despair.' + +“By such assurances as these--by dwelling incessantly upon the fact that +I was his wife, and that this proposed marriage to you was an empty +form--upon your hate for him, and the certainty of your still greater +hate, he gradually worked upon me. He appealed to my love for him, my +pity for his situation, and to every feeling that could move me in his +favor. Then it was that he told me frankly the name of the clergyman +who had married us, and the witness. The clergyman's name was Porter, +and the witness was a Captain Reeves. So, in spite of my abhorrence of +the act, I was led at last, out of my very love to him, and regard for +his future, to acquiesce in his plan. Above all, I was moved by one +thing upon which he laid great stress. + +“'It will really be for her benefit,' he would say. 'She will not be +married at all. I shall take some of her money, certainly; but she is so +enormously rich that she will never feel it; besides, if I didn't get +it, Wiggins would. Better for her cousin to have it. It will be all in +the family. Above all, this will be the means, and the only means, of +freeing her from that imprisonment in which Wiggins keeps her. That is +her chief desire. She will gain it. After I pay my debts I will explain +all to her; and what is more, when I succeed to my own inheritance, as I +must do in time, I shall pay her every penny.' + +“By such plausible reasoning as this he drove away my last objection, +and so, with out any further hesitation, I went about that task. + +“But oh, how hard it was! Over and over again I felt like giving up. But +always he was ready to urge me on, until at last it was accomplished, +and ended as you remember.” + +Miss Fortescue paused here, and made no reply. Edith said not a word. +Why should she? What availed this woman's repentance now? + +“I came here,” continued Miss Fortescue at length, “first of all to +explain this, but to tell you other things also. I must now tell you +something which makes your position more painful than I thought it would +be. I soon found out the full depth of Captain Dudleigh's villainy. +While I thought that you only were deceived, I found that I the one who +was most deceived. + +“After that marriage in the chapel we went back to Dalton, and there he +abused me in the most frightful manner. He pretended to be enraged +because I rebuked him in the chapel. His rage was only a pretense. Then +it all came out. He told me plainly that my marriage with him was a +mockery; that the man Porter who had married was not a clergyman at all, +but a creature of his whom he had bribed to officiate; that Reeves was +not a captain, and that his testimony in any case would be useless. All +this was crushing. It was something that was so entirely in accordance +with my own fears that I had not a word to say. He railed at me like a +madman, and informed me that he had only tolerated me here at Dalton so +as to use me as his tool. And this was our last interview. He left me +there, and I have never seen him since. He said he was your husband, and +was going to live at Dalton. I could do nothing. I went, however, to the +gates, got sight of Wiggins, and for your sake I told him all. I thought +it was better for you to remain under the authority of Wiggins than to +be in the power of such a villain as Captain Dudleigh. I told Wiggins +also that I still had a hope that my marriage was valid. I went back at +once to London, and tried to find out clergymen named Porter. I have +seen several, and written to many others whose names I have seen on the +church list, but none of them know any thing about such a marriage as +mine. I began, therefore, to fear that he was right, and if so--I was +not his wife.” + +Silence followed now for some time. Miss Fortescue was waiting to see +the effect of her story, and Edith was meditating upon the facts with +which this strange revelation dealt. Although she had been so great a +sufferer, still she did not feel resentment now against this betrayer. +For this one was no longer the miserable, perfidious go-between, but +rather an injured wife led to do wrong by the pressure put upon her, and +by her own love. + +“Then that was not a mock marriage?” said she at last. + +“By justice and right it was no marriage,” said Miss Fortescue; “but how +the law may regard it I do not know.” + +“Has Sir Lionel been heard of yet?” asked Edith, after another pause. + +“Sir Lionel!” said Miss Fortescue, in surprise. “Oh, I had forgotten. +Miss Dalton, that, I grieve to say, was all a fiction. He was never out +of the country.” + +“Did you ever speak a word of truth to me?” asked Edith, indignantly. + +Miss Fortescue was silent. + +“At any rate, it is of no consequence now,” said Edith. “Sir Lionel is +nothing to me; for he must look with horror on one whom he believes to +be the slayer of his son.” + +“Oh, Miss Dalton!” burst forth Miss Fortescue, “do not despair; he will +be found yet.” + +“Found! He has been found. Did you +not hear?” + +“Oh, I don't mean that. I do not believe that it was him. I believe that +he is alive. This is all a mistake. I will search for him. I do not +believe that this is him. I believe he is alive. Oh, Miss Dalton, if I +could only do this for you, I should be willing to die. But I will try; +I know how to get on his track; I know where to go; I must hear of him, +if he is alive. Try to have hope; do not despair.” + +Edith shook her head mournfully. + +Miss Fortescue tried still further to lessen Edith's despair, and +assured her that she had hopes herself of finding him before it was too +late, but her words produced no effect. + +“I do not ask you to forgive me,” said Miss Fortescue; “that would be +almost insolence; but I entreat you to believe that I will devote myself +to you, and that you have one whose only purpose in life now is to save +you from this fearful fate. Thus far you have known me only as a speaker +of lies; but remember, I pray you, what my position was. I was playing a +part--as Mrs. Mowbray--as Lieutenant Dudleigh--as Barber the lawyer--” + +“Barber!” exclaimed Edith. “What! Barber too?” + +“Yes,” said Miss Fortescue, sadly; “all those parts were mine. It was +easy to play them before one so honest and so unsuspecting; but oh, Miss +Dalton, believe me, it is in playing a part only that I have deceived +you. Now, when I no longer play a part, but come to you in my own +person, I will be true. I will devote myself to the work of saving you +from this terrible position in which I have done so much to place you.” + +Edith made no reply, and soon after Miss Fortescue departed, leaving her +to her own reflections. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + +A REVELATION. + +If any thing could have added to the misery of Edith and her general +despondency, it would have been the revelations of Miss Fortescue. It +had certainly been bad enough to recall the treachery of a false friend; +but the facts as just revealed went far beyond what she had imagined. +They revealed such a long course of persistent deceit, and showed that +she had been subject to such manifold, long-sustained, and comprehensive +lying, that she began to lose faith in human nature. Whom now could she +believe? Could she venture to put confidence in this confession of Miss +Fortescue? Was that her real name, and was this her real story, or was +it all some new piece of acting, contrived by this all-accomplished +actor for the sake of dragging her down to deeper abysses of woe? She +felt herself to be surrounded by remorseless enemies, all of whom were +plotting against her, and in whose hearts there was no possibility of +pity or remorse. Wiggins, the archenemy, was acting a part which was +mysterious just now, but which nevertheless, she felt sure, was aimed at +her very life. Mrs. Dunbar, she knew, was more open in the manifestation +of her feelings, for she had taken up the cause of the murdered man with +a warmth and vindictive zeal that showed Edith plainly what she might +expect from her. Her only friend, Miss Plympton, was still lost to her; +and her illness seemed probable, since, if it were not so, she would not +keep aloof from her at such a moment as this. Hopeless as she had been +of late, she now found that there were depths of despair below those in +which she had thus far been--“in the lowest deep, a lower deep.” + +[Illustration: “HE SAW HER HEAD FALL”] + +Such were her thoughts and feelings through the remainder of that day +and through the following night. But little sleep came to her. The +future stood before her without one ray of light to shine through its +appalling gloom. On the next day her despair seemed even greater; her +faculties seemed benumbed, and a dull apathy began to settle down over +her soul. + +From this state of mind she was roused by the opening of the door and +the entrance of a visitor. Turning round, she saw Wiggins. + +This was the first time that she had seen him since she left Dalton +Hall, and in spite of that stolid and apathetic indifference which had +come to her, she could not help being struck by the change which had +come over him. His face seemed whiter, his hair grayer, his form more +bent; his footsteps were feeble and uncertain; he leaned heavily upon +his walking-stick; and in the glance that he turned toward her there was +untold sympathy and compassion, together with a timid supplication that +was unlike any thing which she had seen in him before. + +Edith neither said any thing nor did any thing. She looked at him with +dull indifference. She did not move. The thought came to her that this +was merely another move in that great game of treachery and fraud to +which she had been a victim; that here was the archtraitor, the +instigator of all the lesser movements, who was coming to her in order +to carry out some necessary part. + +Wiggins sat down wearily upon one of the rude chairs of the scantily +furnished room, and after a brief silence, looking at her sadly, began. + +“I know,” said he, “how you misunderstand me, and how unwelcome I must +be; but I had to come, so as to assure you that I hope to find this man +who is missing. I--I hope to do so before the--the trial. I have been +searching all along, but without success--thus far. I wish to assure you +that I have found out a way by which you--will be saved. And if you +believe me, I trust that you will--try--to--cherish more hope than you +appear to be doing.” + +He paused. + +Edith said nothing at all. She was silent partly out of apathy, and +partly from a determination to give him no satisfaction, for she felt +that any words of hers, no matter how simple, might be distorted and +used against her. + +Wiggins looked at her with imploring earnestness, and seemed to wait for +her to say something. But finding her silent, he went on: + +“Will you let me ask you one question? and forgive me for asking it; +but it is of some importance to--to me--and to you. It is this: +Did--did you see him at all--that night?” + +“I have been warned,” replied Edith, in a dull, cold tone, “to say +nothing, and I intend to say nothing.” + +Wiggins sighed. + +“To say nothing,” said he, “is not always wise. I once knew a man who +was charged with terrible crimes--crimes of which he was incapable. He +was innocent, utterly. Not only innocent, indeed, but he had fallen +under this suspicion, and had become the object of this charge, simply +on account of his active efforts to save a guilty friend from ruin. His +friend was the guilty one, and his friend was also his sister's husband; +and this man had gone to try and save his friend, when he himself was +arrested for that friend's crimes.” + +Wiggins did not look at Edith; his eyes were downcast. He spoke in a +tone that seemed more like a soliloquy than any thing else. It was a +tone, however, which, though low, was yet tremulous with ill-suppressed +agitation. + +“He was accused,” continued Wiggins, “and if he had spoken and told what +he knew, he might have saved his life. But if he had done this he would +have had to become a witness, and stood up in court and say that which +would ruin his friend. And so he could not speak. His lips were sealed. +To speak would have been to inform against his friend. How could he do +that? It was impossible. Yet some may think--you may think--that this +man did wrong in allowing himself to be put in this false position. You +may say that he had more than himself to consider--he had his family, +his name, his--his wife, his child! + +“Yes,” resumed Wiggins, after a long pause, “this is all true, and he +did consider them, all--all--all! He did not trifle with his family name +and honor, but it was rather on account of the pride which he took in +these that he kept his silence. He was conscious of his perfect +innocence. He could not think it possible that such charges could be +carried out against one like himself. He believed implicitly in the +justice of the courts of his country. He thought that in a fair trial +the innocent could not possibly be proclaimed guilty. More than all, he +thought that his proud name, his stainless character, and even his +wealth and position, would have shown the world that the charges were +simply impossible. He thought that all men would have seen that for him +to have done such things would involve insanity.” + +As Wiggins said this his voice grew more earnest and animated. He looked +at Edith with his solemn eyes, and seemed as though he was pleading with +her the cause of his friend--as though he was trying to show her how it +had happened that the father had dishonored the name which the child +must bear--as though he was justifying to the daughter, Edith Dalton, +the acts of the father, Frederick Dalton. + +“So he bore it all with perfect calmness,” continued Wiggins, “and had +no doubt that he would be acquitted, and thought that thus he would at +least be able, without much suffering, to save his friend from ruin most +terrific--from the condemnation of the courts and the fate of a felon.” + +Wiggins paused once more for some time. He was looking at Edith. He had +expected some remark, but she had made none. In fact, she had regarded +all this as a new trick of Wiggins--a transparent one too--the aim of +which was to win her confidence by thus pretending to vindicate her +father. He had already tried to work on her in that way, and had failed; +and on this occasion he met with the same failure. + +“There is no occasion for you to be silent, I think,” said Wiggins, +turning from the subject to the situation of Edith. “You have no friend +at stake; you will endanger no one, and save yourself, by telling +whether you are innocent or not.” + +These last words roused Edith. It was an allusion to her possible guilt. +She determined to bring the interview to a close. She was tired of this +man and his attempts to deceive her. It was painful to see through all +this hypocrisy and perfidy at the very moment when they were being used +against herself. + +She looked at him with a stony gaze, and spoke in low, cold tones as she +addressed him. “This is all useless. I am on my guard. Why you come here +I do not know. Of course you wish to entrap me into saying something, +so that you may use my words against me at the trial. You ask me if I +saw this man on that night. You ask me if I am innocent. You well know +that I am innocent. You, and you only, know who saw him last on that +night; for as I believe in my own existence, so I believe, and affirm to +your face, that this Leon Dudleigh was murdered by you, and you only!” + +He looked at her fixedly as she said this, returning her stony gaze with +a mournful look--a pitying look, full of infinite sadness and +tenderness. He raised his hand deprecatingly, but said nothing until she +had uttered those last words. + +“Stop!” he said, in a low voice--“stay! I can not bear it.” + +He rose from his seat and came close to her. He leaned upon his stick +heavily, and looked at her with eyes full of that same strange, +inexplicable tenderness and compassion. Her eyes seemed fascinated by +his, and in her mind there arose a strange bewilderment, an expectation +of something she knew not what. + +“Edith,” said he, in a sweet and gentle voice, full of tender +melancholy--“Edith, it would be sin in me to let you any longer heap up +matter for future remorse; and even though I go against the bright hope +of my life in saying this now, yet I must. Edith--” + +He paused, looking at her, while she regarded him with awful eyes. + +“Edith!” he said again--“my--my--child!” + +There were tears in his eyes now, and there was on his face a look of +unutterable love and unspeakable pity and forgiveness. He reached out +his hand and placed it tenderly upon her head. + +“Edith,” he said again, “my child, you will never say these things +again. I--I do not deserve them. I--am your--your father, Edith!” + +At these words a convulsive shudder passed through Edith. He felt her +frail form tremble, he saw her head fall, and heard a low sob that +seemed torn from her. + +She needed no more words than these. In an instant she saw it all; and +though bewildered, she did not for a moment doubt his words. But her +whole being was overwhelmed by a sudden and a sharp agony of remorse; +for she had accustomed herself to hate this man, and the irrepressible +tokens of a father's love she had regarded as hypocrisy. She had never +failed to heap upon that reverend head the deepest scorn, contumely, and +insult. But a moment before she had hurled at him a terrible accusation. +At him! At whom? At the man whose mournful destiny it had been all along +to suffer for the sins of others; and she it was who had flung upon him +an additional burden of grief. + +But with all her remorse there were other feelings--a shrinking sense of +terror, a recoil from this sudden discovery as from something abhorrent. +This her father! That father's face and form had been stamped in her +memory. For years, as she had lived in the hope of seeing him, she had +quickened her love for him and fed her hopes from his portrait. But how +different was this one! What a frightful change from the father that +lived in her memory! The one was a young man in the flush and pride of +life and strength--the other a woe-worn, grief-stricken sufferer, with +reverend head, bowed form, and trembling limbs. Besides, she had long +regarded him as dead; and to see this man was like looking on one who +had risen from the dead. + +In an instant, however, all was plain, and together with the discovery +there came the pangs of remorse and terror and anguish. She could +understand all. He, the escaped convict, had come to England, and was +supposed to be dead. He had lived, under a false name, a life of +constant and vigilant terror. He kept his secret from all the world. Oh, +if he had only told her! Now the letter of Miss Plympton was all plain, +and she wondered how she had been so blind. + +“Oh!” she moaned, in a scarce audible voice, “why did you not tell me?” + +“Oh, Edith darling! my child! my only love!” murmured Frederick Dalton, +bending low over her, and infolding her trembling frame in his own +trembling arms; “my sweet daughter, if you could only have known how I +yearned over you! But I delayed to tell you. It was the one sweet hope +of my life to redeem my name from its foul stain, and then declare +myself. I wanted you to get your father back as he had left you, without +this abhorrent crime laid to his charge. I did wrong not to trust you. +It was a bitter, bitter error. But I had so set my heart on it. It was +all for your sake, Edith--all, darling, for your sake!” + +Edith could bear no more. Every one of these words was a fresh stab to +her remorseful heart--every tone showed to her the depth of love that +lay in that father's heart, and revealed to her the suffering that she +must have caused. It was too much; and with a deep groan she sank away +from his arms upon the floor. She clasped his knees--she did not dare to +look up. She wished only to be a suppliant. He himself had prophesied +this. His terrible warnings sounded even now in her ears. She had only +one thought--to humble herself in the dust before that injured father. + +Dalton tried to raise her up. + +“My darling!” he cried, “my child! you must not--you will break my +heart!” + +“Oh,” moaned Edith, “if it is not already broken, how can you ever +forgive me?--how can you call me your child?” + +“My child! my child!” said Dalton. “It was for you that I lived. If it +had not been for the thought of you, I should have died long since. It +was for your sake that I came home. It is for you only that I live now. +There is nothing for me to forgive. Look up at me. Let me see your +darling face. Let me hear you say one word--only one word--the word that +I have hungered and thirsted to hear. Call me father.” + +“Father! oh, father! dear father!” burst forth Edith, clinging to him +with convulsive energy, and weeping bitterly. + +“Oh, my darling!” said Dalton, “I was to blame. How could you have borne +what I expected you to bear, when I would not give you my confidence? Do +not let us speak of forgiveness. You loved your father all the time, and +you thought that I was his enemy and yours.” + +Gradually Edith became calmer, and her calmness was increased by the +discovery that her father was painfully weak and exhausted. He had been +overwhelmed by the emotions which this interview had called forth. He +now sat gazing at her with speechless love, holding her hands in his, +but his breath came and went rapidly, and there was a feverish +tremulousness in his voice and a flush on his pale cheeks which alarmed +her. She tried to lessen his agitation by talking about her own +prospects, but Dalton did not wish to. + +“Not now, daughter,” he said. “I will hear it all some other time. I am +too weary, Let me only look at your dear face, and hear you call me by +that sweet name, and feel my child's hands in mine. That will be bliss +enough for this day. Another time we will speak about the--the situation +that you are in.” + +As he was thus agitated, Edith was forced to refrain from asking him a +thousand things which she was longing to know. She wished to learn how +he had escaped, how he had made it to be believed that he was dead, and +whether he was in any present danger. But all this she had to postpone. +She had also to postpone her knowledge of that great secret--the secret +that had baffled her, and which he had preserved inviolable through all +these years. She now saw that her suspicions of the man “John Wiggins” + must have been unfounded, and indeed the personality of “Wiggins” became +a complete puzzle to her. + +He bade her a tender adieu, promising to come early on the following +day. + +But on the following day there were no signs of him. Edith waited in +terrible impatience, which finally deepened into alarm as his coming was +still delayed. She had known so much of sorrow that she had learned to +look for it, and began to expect some new calamity. Here, where she had +found her father, where she had received his forgiveness for that which +would never cease to cause remorse to herself, here, in this moment of +respite from despair, she saw the black prospect of renewed misery. It +was as though she had found him for a moment, only to lose him forever. + +Toward evening a note was sent to her. She tore it open. It was from +Mrs. Dunbar, and informed her that her father was quite ill, and was +unable to visit her, but hoped that he might recover. + +After that several days passed, and she heard nothing. At length another +note came informing her that her father had been dangerously ill, but +was now convalescent. + +Other days passed, and Edith heard regularly. Her father was growing +steadily better. On one of these notes he had written his name with a +trembling hand. + +And so amidst these fresh sorrows, and with her feelings ever +alternating between hope and despair, Edith lingered on through the time +that intervened until the day of the trial. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + +THE TRIAL. + +At length the day for the trial arrived, and the place was crowded. At +the appearance of Edith there arose a murmur of universal sympathy and +pity. All the impressions which had been formed of her were falsified. +Some had expected to see a coarse masculine woman; others a crafty, +sinister face; others an awkward, ill-bred rustic, neglected since her +father's trial by designing guardians. Instead of this there appeared +before them a slender, graceful, youthful form, with high refinement and +perfect breeding in every outline and movement. The heavy masses of her +dark hair were folded across her brow, and wreathed in voluminous folds +behind. Her pallid face bore traces of many griefs through which she had +passed, and her large spiritual eyes had a piteous look as they wandered +for a moment over the crowd. + +No one was prepared to see any thing like this, and all hearts were at +once touched. It seemed preposterous to suppose that one like her could +be otherwise than innocent. + +The usual formulas took place, and the trial began. The witnesses were +those who had already been examined. It was rumored that Sir Lionel +Dudleigh was to be brought forward, and “Wiggins,” and Mrs. Dunbar, but +not till the following day. + +At the end of that day the opinion of the public was strongly in favor +of Edith; but still there was great uncertainty as to her guilt or +innocence. It was generally believed that she had been subject to too +much restraint, and in a foolish desire to escape had been induced to +marry Dudleigh. But she had found him a worse master than the other, and +had hated him from the first, so that they had many quarrels, in which +she had freely threatened his life. Finally both had disappeared on the +same night. He was dead; she survived. + +The deceased could not have committed suicide, for the head was missing. +Had it not been for that missing head, the theory of suicide would have +been plausible. + +The second day of the trial came. Edith had seen her father on the +previous evening, and had learned something from him which had produced +a beneficial effect, for there was less terror and dejection in her +face. This was the first time that she had seen him since his illness. + +There was one in the hall that day who looked at her with an earnest +glance of scrutiny as he took his place among the witnesses. + +It was Sir Lionel Dudleigh, who had come here to give what testimony he +could about his son. His face was as serene as usual; there was no +sadness upon it, such as might have been expected in the aspect of a +father so terribly bereaved; but the broad content and placid bonhomie +appeared to be invincible. + +The proceedings of this day were begun by an announcement on the part of +the counsel for the defense, which fell like a thunder-clap upon the +court. Sir Lionel started, and all in the court involuntarily stretched +forward their heads as though to see better the approach of the +astonishing occurrence which had been announced. + +The announcement was simply this, that any further proceedings were +useless, since the missing man himself had been found, and was to be +produced forthwith. There had been no murder, and the body that had been +found must be that of some person unknown. + +Shortly after a group entered the hall. First came Frederick Dalton, +known to the court as “John Wiggins.” He still bore traces of his recent +illness, and, indeed, was not fit to be out of his bed, but he had +dragged himself here to be present at this momentous scene. He was +terribly emaciated, and moved with difficulty, supported by Mrs. +Dunbar, who herself showed marks of suffering and exhaustion almost +equal to his. + +But after these came another, upon whom all eyes were fastened, and even +Edith's gaze was drawn away from her father, to whom she had longed to +fly so as to sustain his dear form, and fixed upon this new-comer. + +Dudleigh! The one whom she had known as Mowbray. Dudleigh! + +Yes, there he stood. + +Edith's eyes were fixed upon him in speechless amazement. It was +Dudleigh, and yet it seemed as though it could not be Dudleigh. + +There was that form and there was that face which had haunted her for so +long a time, and had been associated with so many dark and terrible +memories--the form and the face which were so hateful, which never were +absent from her thoughts, and intruded even upon her dreams. + +Yet upon that face there was now something which was not repulsive even +to her. It was a noble, spiritual face. Dudleigh's features were +remarkable for their faultless outline and symmetry, and now the +expression was in perfect keeping with the beauty of physical form, for +the old hardness had departed, and the deep stamp of sensuality and +selfishness was gone, and the sinister look which had once marred those +features could be traced there no more. + +It was thinner than the face which Edith remembered, and it seemed to +her as if it had been worn down by some illness. If so, it must have +been the same cause which had imparted to those features the refinement +and high bearing which were now visible there. There was the same broad +brow covered with its clustering locks, the same penetrating eyes, the +same square, strong chin, the same firm, resolute month, but here it was +as though a finer touch had added a subtle grace to all these; for about +that mouth there lingered the traces of gentleness and kindliness, like +the remnant of sweet smiles; the glance of the eye was warmer and more +human; there was also an air of melancholy, and over all a grandeur of +bearing which spoke of high breeding and conscious dignity. + +This man, with his earnest and even melancholy face and lofty bearing, +did not seem like one who could have plotted so treacherously against a +helpless girl. His aspect filled Edith with something akin to awe, and +produced a profound impression upon the spectators. They forgot the +hatred which they had begun to feel against Dudleigh in the living +presence of the object of their hate, and looked in silence first at +Edith, then at the new-comer, wondering why it was that between such as +these there could be any thing less than mutual affection. They thought +they could understand now why she should choose him as a husband. They +could not understand how such a husband could become hateful. + +In all the court but one object seemed to attract Dudleigh, and that was +Edith. His eyes had wandered about at first, and finally had rested on +her. With a glance of profoundest and most gentle sympathy he looked at +her, conveying in that one look enough to disarm even her resentment. +She understood that look, and felt it, and as she looked at him in +return she was filled with wonder. + +Could such things be? she thought. Was this the man who had caused her +so much suffering, who bad blasted and blighted the hopes of her life? +or, rather, had the man who had so wronged her been transformed to this? +Impossible! As well might a fiend become changed to an archangel. And +yet here he was. Evidently this was Dudleigh. She looked at him in +speechless bewilderment. + +The proceedings of the court went on, and Dudleigh soon explained his +disappearance. As he spoke his voice confirmed the fact that he was +Dudleigh; but Edith listened to it with the same feelings which had been +excited by his face. It was the same voice, yet not the same; it was the +voice of Dudleigh, but the coldness and the mockery of its intonations +were not there. Could he have been playing a devil's part all along, and +was he now coming out in his true character, or was this a false part? +No; whatever else was false, this was not--that expression of face, that +glance of the eye, those intonations, could never be feigned. So Edith +thought as she listened. + +Dudleigh's explanation was a simple one. He had not been very happy at +Dalton Hall and had concluded to go away that night for a tour on the +Continent. He had left so as to get the early morning train, and had +traveled on without stopping until he reached Palermo, from which he had +gone to different places in the interior of Sicily, which he mentioned. +He had climbed over the gate, because he was in too much of a hurry to +wake the porter. He had left his valise, as he intended to walk. He had, +of course, left his dog at Dalton, because he couldn't take him to the +Continent. He had forgotten his watch, for the reason that he had slept +longer than he intended, and dressed and went off in a great hurry. The +pocket-book which he left was of no importance--contained principally +memoranda, of no use to any but himself. He had no idea there would have +been such a row, or he would not have gone in such a hurry. He had heard +of this for the first time in Sicily, and would have come at once, but, +unfortunately, he had a attack of fever, and could not return before. + +Nothing could have been more natural and frank than Dudleigh's +statement. A few questions were asked, merely to satisfy public +curiosity. Every one thought that a trip to Sicily was a natural enough +thing for one who was on such bad terms with his wife, and the +suddenness of his resolution to go there was sufficient to account for +the disorder in which he had left his room. + +But all this time there was one in that court who looked upon the +new-comer with far different feelings that those which any other had. + +This was Sir Lionel Dudleigh. + +He had heard the remark of the counsel that Dudleigh had returned, and +looked toward the door as he entered with a smile on his face. As he saw +Dudleigh enter he started. Then his face turned ghastly white, and his +jaw fell. He clutched the railing in front of him with both hands, and +seemed fascinated by the sight. + +Near him stood Mrs. Dunbar, and Dalton leaned on her. Both of these +looked fixedly at Sir Lionel, and noticed his emotion. + +At the sound of Dudleigh's voice Sir Lionel's emotion increased. He +breathed heavily. His face turned purple. His knuckles turned white as +he grasped the railing. Suddenly, in the midst of Dudleigh's remarks, he +started to his feet, and seemed about to say something. Immediately in +front of him were Dalton and Mrs. Dunbar. At that instant, as he rose, +Mrs. Dunbar laid her hand on his arm. + +He looked at her with astonishment. He had not seen her before. She +fixed her solemn eyes on him--those eyes to which had come a gloom more +profound, and a sadness deeper than before. But Sir Lionel stared at her +without recognition, and impatiently tried to shake off her hand. + +“Who are you?” he said, suddenly, in a trembling voice--for there was +something in this woman's face that suggested startling thoughts. + +Mrs. Dunbar drew nearer to him, and in a whisper that thrilled through +every fibre of Sir Lionel's frame, hissed in his ear, + +“_I am your wife--and here is my brother Frederick!_” + +Over Sir Lionel's face there came a flash of horror, sudden, sharp, and +overwhelming. He staggered and shrank back. + +“Claudine!” he murmured, in a stifled voice. + +“Sit down,” whispered Lady Dudleigh--now no longer Mrs. Dunbar--“sit +down, or you shall have to change places with Frederick's daughter.” + +Sir Lionel swayed backward and forward, and appeared not to hear her. +And now his eyes wandered to Dalton, who stood gazing solemnly at him, +and then to Dudleigh, who was still speaking. + +“Who is that?” he gasped. + +“Your son!” said Lady Dudleigh. + +[Illustration: “HE LOOKED AT HER WITH ASTONISHMENT.”] + +At this instant Dudleigh finished. Sir Lionel gave a terrible groan, and +flung up his arms wildly. The next instant he fell heavily forward, and +was caught in the arms of his wife. A crowd flew to his assistance, and +he was carried out of court, followed by Lady Dudleigh. + +There was a murmur of universal sympathy. + +“Poor Sir Lionel! He has been heartbroken, and the joy of his son's +safety is too much.” + +After this the proceedings soon came to an end. + +Edith was free! + +Dalton tried to get to her, but in his weakness sank upon a seat, and +looked imploringly at his daughter. Seeing this, Dudleigh sprang to his +assistance, and gave his arm. Leaning heavily upon this, Dalton walked +toward Edith, who was already striving to reach him, and, with a low +cry, caught her in his arms. + +Sir Lionel had been taken to the inn, where Lady Dudleigh waited on him. +After some time he recovered his senses, and began to rally rapidly. It +had been feared that it was apoplexy, but, fortunately for the sufferer, +it turned out to be nothing so serious as that. After this Lady Dudleigh +was left alone with her husband. + +Ten years of separation lay between these two--a separation undertaken +from causes that still existed to alienate them beyond the hope of +reconciliation. Yet there was much to be said; and Lady Dudleigh had +before her a dark and solemn purpose. + +On the next day Sir Lionel was able to drive out. Lady Dudleigh seemed +to have constituted herself his guardian. Sir Lionel's face and +expression had changed. The easy, careless bonhomie, the placid content, +the serene joyousness, that had once characterized him, were gone. In +the place of these there came an anxious, watchful, troubled look--the +look of a mind ill at ease--the furtive glance, the clouded brow. It was +as though in this meeting Lady Dudleigh had communicated to her husband +a part of that expression which prevailed in her own face. + +Sir Lionel seemed like a prisoner who is attended by an ever-vigilant +guard--one who watches all his movements, and from whom he can not +escape. As he rolled along in his carriage, the Black Care of the poet +seemed seated beside him in the person of Lady Dudleigh. + +While Sir Lionel thus recovered from the sudden shock which he had felt, +there was another who had endured a longer and severer course of +suffering, and who had rallied for a moment when his presence was +required, but only to sink back into a relapse worse than the illness +from which he had begun to recover. This was Frederick Dalton, who had +crawled from his bed twice--once to his daughter's prison, and once to +the scene of her trial. But the exertion was too much, and the agitation +of feeling to which he had been subject had overwhelmed him. Leaning +heavily on Dudleigh, and also on Edith, he was taken by these two to his +carriage, and thence to the inn; but here he could walk no further. It +was Dudleigh who had to carry him to his room and lay him on his +bed--and Dudleigh, too, who would intrust to no other person the task of +putting his prostrate form in that bed. Dudleigh's own father was lying +in the same house, but at that moment, whatever were his motives, Dalton +seemed to have stronger claims on his filial duty, and Edith had to wait +till this unlooked-for nurse had tenderly placed her father in his bed. + +The doctor, who had found Sir Lionel's case so trifling, shook his head +seriously over Frederick Dalton. Dudleigh took up his station in that +room, and cared for the patient like a son. The day passed, and the +night, and the next morning, but Dalton grew no better. It was a strange +stupor which affected him, not like paralysis, but arising rather from +exhaustion, or some affection of the brain. The doctor called it +congestion. He lay in a kind of doze, without sense and without +suffering, swallowing any food or medicine that might be offered, but +never noticing any thing, and never answering any questions. His eyes +were closed at all times, and in that stupor he seemed to be in a state +of living death. + +Edith's grief was profound; but in the midst of it she could not help +feeling wonder at the unexpected part which Dudleigh was performing. Who +was he that he should take so large a part in the care of her father? +Yet so it was; and Dudleigh seemed to think of nothing and see nothing +but that old man's wasted and prostrate form. + +For the present, at least, departure from the inn was of course out of +the question. Edith's position was a very distressing one. Every +feeling of her heart impelled her to be present at her father's bedside, +but Dudleigh was present at that same bedside; and how could she +associate herself with him even there? At first she would enter the +room, and sit quietly by her father's bedside, and on such occasions +Dudleigh would respectfully withdraw; but this was unpleasant, and she +hardly knew what to do. + +Two or three days thus passed, and on the third Dudleigh requested an +interview, to ask her, as he said, something about “Mr. Wiggins”--for +this was the name by which Mr. Dalton still was called. This request +Edith could not refuse. + +Dudleigh entered with an air of profound respect. + +“Miss Dalton,” said he, laying emphasis on that name, “nothing would +induce me to intrude upon you but my anxiety about your father. Deep as +your affection for him may be, it can hardly be greater than mine. I +would gladly lay down my life for him. At the same time, I understand +your feelings, and this is what I wish to speak about. I would give up +my place at his bedside altogether if you wished it, and you should not +be troubled by my presence; but I see that you are not strong enough to +be sole nurse, or to undertake the work that would be required of you, +and that your own affection for him would impose upon you. You yourself +are not strong, and you must take care of yourself for his sake. I will +not, therefore, give up to you all the care of your father, but I will +absent myself during the afternoon, and you will then have exclusive +care of him.” + +Edith bowed without a word, and Dudleigh withdrew. + +This arrangement was kept up, and Edith scarcely saw Dudleigh at all. +She knew, however, that his care for her father was incessant and +uninterrupted. Every thing that could possibly be needed was supplied; +every luxury or delicacy that could be thought of was obtained; and not +only were London physicians constantly coming up, but from the notes +which lay around, she judged that Dudleigh kept up a constant +correspondence with them about this case. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + +SIR LIONEL AND HIS “KEEPER” + +Sir Lionel, who had come to this place with the face that indicated a +mind at peace, thus found himself suddenly confronted by a grim phantom, +the aspect of which struck terror to his heart. That phantom was drawn +up from a past which he usually did not care to remember. Now, however, +he could not forget it. There was one by his side to remind him of it +always--one who had become his guard, his jailer--in fact, his keeper--a +word which signifies better than any other the attitude which was +assumed by Lady Dudleigh. For the feeling which Sir Lionel had toward +her was precisely like that which the lunatic has toward his keeper, the +feeling that this one is watching night and day, and never relaxes the +terrible stare of those vigilant eyes. There are those who on being thus +watched would grow mad; and Sir Lionel had this in addition to his other +terrors--this climax of them all, that upon him there was always the +maddening glare of his “keeper's” eyes. Terrible eyes were they to him, +most terrible--eyes which he dared not encounter. They were the eyes of +his wife--a woman most injured; and her gaze reminded him always of a +past full of horror. That gaze he could not encounter. He knew without +looking at it what it meant. He felt it on him. There were times when +it made his flesh crawl, nor could he venture to face it. + +A few days of this reduced him to a state of abject misery. He began to +fear that he was really growing mad. In that case he would be a fit +subject for a “keeper.” He longed with unutterable longing to throw off +this terrible restraint; but he could not and dared not. That woman, +that “keeper,” wielded over him a power which he knew and felt, and +dared not defy. It was the power that arises from the knowledge of +secrets of life and death, and her knowledge placed his life in her +hands. + +This woman was inflexible and inexorable. She had suffered so much that +she had no pity for his present sufferings. These seemed trivial to her. +She showed a grand, strong, self-sufficient nature, which made her his +superior, and put her above the reach of any influences that he might +bring. He could remember the time when she was a fair and gentle young +girl, with her will all subject to his; then a loving bride with no +thought apart from him; but now years of suffering and self-discipline +had transformed her to this, and she came back to him an inexorable +Fate, an avenging Nemesis. + +Yet Sir Lionel did not give up all hope. He could not drive her away. +He could not fly away from her, for her watch was too vigilant; but he +hoped for some chance of secret flight in which, if he once escaped, he +might find his way to the Continent. With something of that cunning +which characterizes the insane, and which, perhaps, is born of the +presence of a “keeper,” Sir Lionel watched his opportunity, and one day +nearly succeeded in effecting his desire. + +That day Lady Dudleigh was in her brother's room. Sir Lionel had waited +for this, and had made his preparations. When she had been gone for a +few minutes, he stole softly out of his room, passed stealthily down the +back stairs of the inn, and going out of the back-door, reached the rear +of the house. Here there was a yard, and a gate that led out to a road +at the end of the house. A carriage had been in waiting here for about +an hour. Sir Lionel hurried across the yard, passed through the gate, +and looked for the carriage. + +He took one glance, and then a deep oath escaped him. + +In the carriage was Lady Dudleigh. + +How she could have detected his flight he could not imagine, nor did he +now care. She had detected it, and had followed at once to circumvent +him. She must have gone down the front stairs, out of the front-door, +and reached the carriage before him. And there she was! Those hateful +eyes were fixed on him--he felt the horrid stare--he cowered beneath it. +He walked toward her. + +“I thought I would go out too,” said she. + +Sir Lionel said not a word. He felt too much ashamed to turn back now, +and was too politic to allow her to see any open signs that he was in +full flight; so he quietly got into the carriage, and took his seat by +her side. + +Whipping up the horses, he drove them at a headlong rate of speed out +through the streets into the country. His whole soul was full of mad +fury. Rage and disappointment together excited his brain to madness; and +the fierce rush of the impetuous steeds was in accordance with the +excitement of his mind. At length the horses themselves grew fatigued, +and slackened their pace. Sir Lionel still tried to urge them forward, +but in vain, and at last he flung down the whip with a curse. + +“I'll not stand this any longer!” he cried, vehemently, addressing his +“keeper,” but not looking at her. + +“What?” said she. + +“This style of being dogged and tracked and watched.” + +“You allude to me, I suppose,” said Lady Dudleigh. “At any rate, you +must allow that it is better to be tracked, as you call it, by me, than +by the officers of the law.” + +“I don't care,” growled Sir Lionel, gathering courage. “I'll not stand +this style of thing any longer. I'll not let them have it all their own +way.” + +“I don't see what you can do,” said Lady Dudleigh, quietly. + +“Do!” cried Sir Lionel, in a still more violent tone--“do! I'll tell you +what I'll do: I'll fight it out.” + +“Fight!” + +“Yes,” cried Sir Lionel, with an oath. “Every one of you--every one. +Every one without a single exception. Oh, you needn't think that I'm +afraid. I've thought it all over. You're all under my power. Yes--ha, +ha, ha! that's it. I've said it, and I say what I mean. You thought that +I was under your power. Your power! Ha, ha, ha! That's good. Why, you're +all under mine--every one of you.” + +Sir Lionel spoke wildly and vehemently, in that tone of feverish +excitement which marks a madman. It may have been the influence of his +“keeper,” or it may have been the dawnings of actual insanity. + +As for Lady Dudleigh, she did not lose one particle of her +cold-bloodedness. She simply said, in the same tone, + +“How?” + +“How? Ha, ha! Do you think I'm going to tell _you_? That's +_my_ secret. But stop. Yes; I don't care. I'd just as soon tell as +not. You can't escape, not one of you, unless you all fly at once to the +Continent, or to America, or, better yet, back to Botany Bay. There +you'll be safe. Fly! fly! fly! or else,” he suddenly added, in a gloomy +tone, “you'll all die on the gallows! every one of you, on the gallows! +Ha, ha, ha! swinging on the gallows! the beautiful gallows!” + +Lady Dudleigh disregarded the wildness of his tone, or perhaps she chose +to take advantage of it, thinking that in his excitement he might +disclose his thoughts the more unguardedly. + +“You can do nothing,” she said. + +“Can't I, though?” retorted Sir Lionel. + +“You wait. First, there's Dalton.” + +“What can you do with him?” + +“Arrest him,” said Sir Lionel. “What is he? An outlaw! An escaped +convict! He lives under an assumed name. He must go back to Botany +Bay--that is, if he isn't hanged. And then there's that pale-faced devil +of a daughter with her terrible eyes.” He paused. + +“What can you do to her?” + +“Her! Arrest her too,” cried Sir Lionel. “She murdered my boy--my +son--my Leon. She must be hanged. You shall not save her by this trick. +No! she must be hanged, like her cursed father.” + +A shudder passed through Lady Dudleigh. + +Sir Lionel did not notice it. He was too much taken up with his own +vengeful thoughts. + +“Yes,” said he, “and there's that scoundrel Reginald.” + +“Reginald!” cried Lady Dudleigh, in a stern voice. “Why do you mention +him?” + +“Oh, he's one of the same gang,” cried Sir Lionel. “He's playing their +game. He is siding against his father, as he always did, and with his +brother's murderers. He shall not escape. I will avenge Leon's death on +all of you; and as for him, he shall suffer!” + +It was with a strong effort that Lady Dudleigh restrained herself. But +she succeeded in doing so, and said, simply, as before, + +“How?” + +“Arrest him!” cried Sir Lionel. “Arrest him too. He is guilty of +perjury; and if he doesn't hang for it, he'll go back again to Botany +Bay with that scoundrel with whom he sides against me--his own +father--and against his brother.” + +“Are there any more?” asked Lady Dudleigh, as Sir Lionel ended. + +“More! Yes,” he said. + +“Who?” + +“You!” shouted Sir Lionel, with a voice of indescribable hate and +ferocity. He turned as he spoke, and stared at her. His wild eyes, +however, met the calm, cold, steady glance of those of his “keeper,” and +they fell before it. He seized the whip and began to lash the horses, +crying as he did so, “You! yes, you! you! most of all!” + +“What can you do to me?” asked Lady Dudleigh. + +“You? Arrest you.” + +“What have I done?” + +“You? You have done every thing. You have aided and abetted the escape +of an outlaw. You have assisted him in his nefarious occupation of +Dalton Hall. You have aided and abetted him in the imprisonment of +Dalton's brat. You have aided and abetted him in the murder of my boy +Leon. You have--” + +“Stop!” cried Lady Dudleigh, in a stern, commanding voice. “You have +been a villain always, but you have never been so outspoken. Who are +you? Do you know what happened ten years ago?” + +“What?” asked Sir Lionel. “Do you mean Dalton's forgery, and his +assassination of that--that banker fellow?” + +Lady Dudleigh smiled grimly. + +“I am glad that you said that,” said she. “You remove my last scruple. +My brother's wrongs have well-nigh maddened me; but I have hesitated to +bear witness against my husband, and the father of my children. I shall +remember this, and it will sustain me when I bear my witness against you +in a court of law.” + +“Me?” said Sir Lionel. “Me? Witness against me? You can not. No one will +believe you.” + +“It will not be only your wife,” said she, “though that will be +something, but your own self, with your own hand.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean what you know very well--your letter which you wrote to +Frederick, inclosing your forged check.” + +“I never forged a check, and I never wrote a letter inclosing one!” + cried Sir Lionel. “Dalton forged that letter himself, if there is such a +letter. He was an accomplished forger, and has suffered for it.” + +“The letter is your own,” said Lady Dudleigh, “and I can swear to it.” + +“No one will believe you,” cried Sir Lionel. “You shall be arrested for +perjury.” + +Lady Dudleigh gave another grim smile, and then she added, “There is +that _Maltese cross_. You forget that.” + +“What Maltese cross?” said Sir Lionel. “I never had one. That wasn't +mine; it was Dalton's.” + +“But I can swear in a court of law,” said Lady Dudleigh, “that this +Maltese cross was _yours_, and that it was given to you by me as a +birthday gift.” + +“No one will believe you!” cried Sir Lionel; “no one will believe you!” + +“Why not? Will they refuse the oath of Lady Dudleigh?” + +“I can show them that you are insane,” said Sir Lionel, with a chuckle +at the idea, which seemed to him like a sudden inspiration. + +“You will not be able to show that Reginald is insane,” said she. + +“Reginald?” + +“Yes, Reginald,” repeated Lady Dudleigh. “Reginald knows that Maltese +cross, and knows when I gave it to you. He too will be ready to swear to +that in a court of law whenever I tell him that he may do so. + +“Reginald?” said Sir Lionel, in a gloomy voice. “Why, he was--a child +then.” + +“He was sixteen years old,” said Lady Dudleigh. + +This mention of Reginald seemed to crush Sir Lionel. He was silent for a +long time. Evidently he had not been prepared for this in his plans for +what he called a “fight.” He sat in moody silence therefore. Once or +twice he stole a furtive glance at her, and threw upon her a look which +she did not see. It was a look full of hate and malignancy, while at the +same time there was an expression of satisfaction in his face, as though +he had conceived some new plan, which he intended to keep a secret all +to himself. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + +LADY DUDLEIGH'S DECISION. + +During the remainder of that drive nothing was said by either. Sir +Lionel had his own thoughts, which, whatever they were, appeared to give +him a certain satisfaction, and his brow was more unclouded when they +reached the inn than it had been ever since the day of the trial. +Evidently the new design which he had conceived, and which remained +unuttered in his mind, was very satisfactory to him. + +That evening he himself began the conversation with Lady Dudleigh, a +thing which he had not before done. + +“It's all very well,” said he, “for you to carry on your own plans. You +may carry them on and welcome. I won't prevent you; in fact, I can't. +It's no use to deny it; I'm in your power. You're determined to crush +me, and I must be crushed, I suppose. You are going to show to the +world the strange spectacle of a wife and a son rising up against a +husband and father, and swearing his life away. You will lead on, and +Reginald will follow. This is the education that you have given him--it +is to end in parricide. Very well; I must submit. Wife, slay your +husband! mother, lead your son to parricide! Of course you comfort your +conscience with the plea that you are doing justice. In the French +Revolution there were wives who denounced their husbands, and sons who +denounced their fathers, in the name of 'humanity,' and for the good of +the republic. So go on. See that justice be done. Come on yourself to +assassinate your husband, and bring on your parricide! Take sides with +those who have murdered your son--the son whom you bore to me, and once +loved! Unsex yourself, and become a Fury! It is useless for me to make +resistance, I suppose; and yet, woman! wife! mother! let me tell you +that on the day when you attempt to do these things, and when your son +stands by your side to help you, there will go up a cry of horror +against you from outraged humanity!” + +At this Lady Dudleigh looked at him, who, as usual, averted his eyes; +but she made no reply. + +“Bring him on!” said Sir Lionel--“your son--my son--the parricide! Do +your worst. But at the same time allow me to inform you, in the mildest +manner in the world, that if I am doomed, there is no reason why I +should go mad in this infernal hole. What is more, I do not intend to +stay here one single day longer. I'm not going to run away. That is +impossible; you keep too sharp a look-out altogether. I'm simply going +away from this place of horrors, and I rather think I'll go home. I'll +go home--yes, home. Home is the place for me--Dudleigh Manor, where I +first took you, my true wife--that is the place for me to be in when you +come to me, you and your son, to hand me over, Judas-like, to death. +Yes, I'm going home, and if you choose to accompany me, why, all that I +can say is, I'll have to bear it.” + +“I'll go,” said Lady Dudleigh, laconically. + +“Oh, of course,” said Sir Lionel, “quite a true wife; like Ruth and +Naomi. Whither thou goest, I will go. You see, I'm up in my Bible. Well, +as I said, I can not prevent you, and I suppose there is no need for me +to tell you to get ready.” + +Whether under these bitter taunts Lady Dudleigh writhed or not did not +at all appear. She seemed as cool and calm as ever. Perhaps she had so +schooled her nature that she was able to repress all outward signs of +emotion, or perhaps she had undergone so much that a taunt could have no +sting for her, or perhaps she had already contemplated and familiarized +herself with all these possible views of her conduct to such an extent +that the mention of them created no emotion. At any rate, whatever she +felt, Sir Lionel saw nothing. + +Having discharged this shot, Sir Lionel went to his desk, and taking out +writing materials, began to write a letter. He wrote rapidly, and once +or twice glanced furtively at Lady Dudleigh, as though he was fearful +that she might overlook his writing. But there was no danger of that. +Lady Dudleigh did not move from her place. She did not seem to be aware +that he was writing at all. + +At length Sir Lionel finished, and then he folded, sealed, and addressed +the letter. He finished this task with a face of supreme satisfaction, +and stole a look toward Lady Dudleigh, in which there was a certain +cunning triumph very visible, though it was not seen by the one at whom +it was directed. + +“And now,” said he, waving the letter somewhat ostentatiously, and +speaking in a formal tone, in which there was an evident sneer--“and +now, Lady Dudleigh, I have the honor to inform you that I intend to go +out and post this letter. May I have the honor of your company as far as +the post-office, and back?” + +Lady Dudleigh rose in silence, and hastily throwing on her things, +prepared to follow him. Sir Lionel waited with mocking politeness, +opened the door, for her to pass out first, and then in company with her +went to the post-office, where he mailed the letter, and returned with +the smile of satisfaction still upon his face. + +Early on the next morning Lady Dudleigh saw her son. He had watched all +that night by Dalton's bedside, and seemed pale and exhausted. + +“Reginald,” said Lady Dudleigh, “Sir Lionel is going away.” + +“Going away?” repeated Reginald, absently. + +“Yes; back to Dudleigh Manor.” + +Reginald looked inquiringly at his mother, but said nothing. + +“I intend,” said Lady Dudleigh, “to go with him.” + +“You?” + +“Yes.” + +Reginald looked at her mournfully. + +“Have you done any thing with him yet?” he asked. + +Lady Dudleigh shook her head. + +“Do you expect to do any thing?” + +“I do.” + +“I'm afraid you will be disappointed.” + +“I hope not. I have at least gained a hold upon him, and I have +certainly worked upon his fears. If I remain with him now I hope in time +to extort from him that confession which will save us all from an +additional sorrow; one perhaps as terrible as any we have ever known, if +not even more so.” + +“Confession!” repeated Reginald. “How is that possible? He will never +confess--never. If he has remained silent so long, and has not been +moved by the thought of all that he has done, what possible thing can +move him? Nothing but the actual presence of the law. Nothing but +force.” + +“Well,” said Lady Dudleigh, “it is worth trying--the other alternative +is too terrible just yet. I hope to work upon his fears. I hope to +persuade him to confess, and fly from the country to some place of +safety. Frederick must be righted at all hazards, and I hope to show +this so plainly to Sir Lionel that he will acquiesce in _my_ +proposal, confess all, save Frederick, and then fly to some place where +he may be safe. If not, why, then we can try the last resort. But oh, +Reginald, do you not see how terrible that last resort is?--I against my +husband, you against your father--both of us bringing him to the +gallows! It is only the intolerable sense of Frederick's long-sufferings +that can make me think of doing so terrible a thing. But Frederick is +even now in danger. He must be saved; and the question is between the +innocent and the guilty. I am strong enough to decide differently from +what I did ten years ago.” + +“Oh, I know--I feel it all, mother dear,” said Reginald; “but at the +same time I don't like the idea of your going away with him--alone.” + +“Why not?” + +“I don't like the idea of your putting yourself in his power.” + +“His power?” + +“Yes, in Dudleigh Manor, or any other place. He is desperate. He will +not shrink from any thing that he thinks may save him from this danger. +You will be his chief danger; he may think of getting rid of it. He is +unscrupulous, and would stop at nothing.” + +“Oh, as for that, he may be desperate, but what can he possibly do? +Dudleigh Manor is in the world. It is not in some remote place where the +master is superior to law. He can do no more harm there than he can +here.” + +“The man,” said Reginald, “who for all these years has outraged honor +and justice and truth, and has stifled his own conscience for the sake +of his comfort, must by this time be familiar with desperate deeds, and +be capable of any crime. I am afraid, mother dear, for you to trust +yourself with him.” + +“Reginald,” said Lady Dudleigh, “you speak as though I were a child or a +schoolgirl. Does he seem now as though he could harm me, or do I seem to +be one who can easily be put down? Would you be afraid to go with him?” + +“I--afraid? That is the very thing that I wish to propose.” + +“But you could not possibly have that influence over him which I have. +You might threaten, easily enough, and come to an open rupture, but that +is what I wish to avoid. I wish to bring him to a confession, not so +much by direct threats as by various constraining moral influences.” + +“Oh, as to that,” said Reginald, “I have no doubt that you will do far +better than I can; but at the same time I can not get rid of a fear +about your safety.” + +“And do you really think, Reginald, that I would be less safe than you? +or, from what you know of me, should you suppose that I have much of +that woman's weakness about me which might make me an easy prey to one +who wished to do me harm?” + +“I know well what you are, mother dear,” said Reginald, taking her hand +tenderly in both of his. “You have the tenderness of a woman and the +courage of a man; but still I feel uneasy. At any rate, promise me one +thing. You will let me know what you are doing.” + +“I do not promise to write regularly,” said Lady Dudleigh, “but I do +promise to write the moment that any thing happens worth writing about.” + +“And if you are ill, or in danger?” said Reginald, anxiously. + +“Oh, then, of course I shall write at once. But now I must go. I shall +not see you again for some time. Good-by.” + +Lady Dudleigh kissed her son tenderly as she said this, and left him, +and Reginald returned to his place by Fredrick Dalton's bedside. + +That same day, shortly after this interview, Sir Lionel and Lady +Dudleigh drove away from the inn, _en route_ for Dudleigh Manor. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + +LADY DUDLEIGH IS SHOWN TO HER ROOM. + +After driving for about a mile Sir Lionel and Lady Dudleigh took the +train, securing a compartment to themselves. + +During this part of the journey Sir Lionel's face lost much of that +gloom which of late had pervaded it, and assumed an expression which was +less dismal, though not quite like the old one. The old look was one of +serene and placid content, an air of animal comfort, and of easy-going +self-indulgence; but now the expression was more restless and excited. +There was a certain knowing look--a leer of triumphant cunning--combined +with a tendency to chuckle over some secret purpose which no one else +knew. Together with this there was incessant restlessness; he appeared +perpetually on the look-out, as though dreading discovery; and he +alternated between exultant nods of his head, with knowing winks at +vacancy, and sudden sharp furtive glances at his companion. Changed as +Sir Lionel's mood was, it can hardly be said that the change was for the +better. It would have been obvious even to a more superficial observer +than that vigilant “keeper” who accompanied him that Sir Lionel had lost +his self-poise, and was in rather a dangerous way. Lady Dudleigh must +have noticed this; but it made no difference to her, save that there was +perhaps a stonier lustre in her eyes as she turned them upon him, and a +sharper vigilance in her attitude. + +In this way they rode on for several hours; and whatever Sir Lionel's +plans might have been, they certainly did not involve any action during +the journey. Had he been sufficiently violent he might have made an +assault upon his companion in the seclusion of that compartment, and +effectually prevented any trouble ever arising to him from her. He might +have done this, and made good his escape in the confusion of some +station. But no such attempt was made; and so in due time they reached +the place where they were to get out. + +“This is the nearest station to Dudleigh Manor,” said Sir Lionel, gayly. +“This road has been made since your time.” + +Lady Dudleigh said nothing, but looked around. She saw nothing that was +familiar. A neat wayside station, with the usual platform, was nearest; +and beyond this arose trees which concealed the view on one side, while +on the other there were fields and hedges, and one or two houses in the +distance. It was a commonplace scene, in a level sort of country, and +Lady Dudleigh, after one short survey, thought no more about it. It was +just like any other wayside station. + +A common-looking hack, with a rather ill-dressed driver, was waiting, +and toward this Sir Lionel walked. + +“This,” said he, “is the Dudleigh coach. It isn't so grand an affair as +it used to be; but my means have dwindled a good deal since your day, +you know, and I have to economize--yes--ha, ha, ha!--economize--queer +thing too, isn't it? Economizing--ha, ha, ha!” + +Sir Lionel's somewhat flighty manner was not at all congenial to Lady +Dudleigh, and she treated him as the vigilant “keeper” always treats his +flighty prisoner--that is, with silent patience and persistent +watchfulness. + +In a few minutes they were both seated inside the coach, and were +driving away. The coach was a gloomy one, with windows only in the +doors. The rest was solid woodwork. These windows in the doors were +small, and when let down were scarcely large enough for one to put his +head through. When sitting down it was impossible for Lady Dudleigh to +see the road. She could see nothing but the tops of the trees, between +which the sky appeared occasionally. She saw that she was driving along +a road which was shaded with trees on both sides; but more than this she +could not see. + +They drove for about an hour at a moderate pace, and during this time +Sir Lionel preserved that same peculiar demeanor which has already been +described, while Lady Dudleigh maintained her usual silent watchfulness. + +At length they stopped for a moment. Voices sounded outside, and then +Lady Dudleigh saw that she was passing through a gateway. Thinking that +this was Dudleigh Manor, she made no remark, but calmly awaited the time +when she should reach the house. She did not have to wait long. Sooner +than she expected the coach stopped. The driver got down and opened the +door. Sir Lionel sprang out with surprising agility, and held out his +hand politely to assist his companion. She did not accept his offer, but +stepped out without assistance, and looked around. + +To her surprise, the place was not Dudleigh Manor at all, but one which +was entirely different, and quite unfamiliar. It was a brick house of no +very great size, though larger than most private houses, of plain +exterior, and with the air of a public building of some sort. The +grounds about were stiff and formal and forbidding. The door was open, +and one or two men were standing there. It did not look like an inn, and +yet it certainly was not a private residence. + +“I have to stop here for a little while,” said Sir Lionel, “to see a +friend on business. We are not half-way to Dudleigh Manor yet; it's +further than you think.” + +He turned and went up the steps. Lady Dudleigh looked around once more, +and then followed him. The men at the head of the steps looked at her +curiously as she went in. She took no notice of them, however, but +walked past them, looking calmly beyond them. + +On entering the house she saw a bare hall covered with slate-colored +oil-cloth, and with a table against the wall. A gray-headed man came out +of one of the rooms, and advanced to meet Sir Lionel, who shook hands +with him very cordially, and whispered to him a few words. The +gray-headed man wore spectacles, was clean shaven, with a double chin, +and a somewhat sleek and oily exterior. + +“Lady Dudleigh,” said Sir Lionel, leading the gray-headed man forward by +the arm, “allow me to make you acquainted with my particular friend, Dr. +Leonard Morton.” + +Lady Dudleigh bowed slightly, and Dr. Morton made a profound obeisance +that seemed like a caricature of politeness. + +“Will you have the kindness to walk up stairs?” said he, and led the +way, while the others followed him. Ascending the stairs, they reached a +large room at the back of the house, which was furnished in the same +stiff and formal way as the hall below. Over the mantel-piece hung an +engraving, somewhat faded out, and on the table were a Bible and a +pitcher of water. + +The doctor politely handed Lady Dudleigh a chair, and made one or two +remarks about the weather. + +“Sir Lionel,” said he, “if Lady Dudleigh will excuse us for a few +moments, I should like to speak with you in private.” + +“Will you have the kindness, Lady Dudleigh,” asked Sir Lionel, “to +excuse us for a few moments? We shall not leave you long alone. And here +is a book--an invaluable book--with which you may occupy your time.” + +He said this with such exaggerated politeness, and with such a cunning +leer in his eyes, that his tone and manner were most grotesque; and as +he concluded he took up the large Bible with ridiculous solemnity. + +Lady Dudleigh merely bowed in silence. + +“A thousand thanks,” said Sir Lionel, turning away; and thereupon he +left the room, followed by the doctor. Lady Dudleigh heard their +footsteps descending the stairs, and then they seemed to go into some +room. + +For some time she forgot all about him. The place had at first +surprised her, but she gave it little thought. She had too much to think +of. She had before her a task which seemed almost impossible; and if she +failed in this, there was before her that dread alternative which Sir +Lionel had presented to her so plainly. Other things too there were +besides her husband--connected with all who were dearest to her--her +brother, perhaps, dying before he had accomplished his work; her son so +mysteriously murdered; her other son awaiting her command to assist in +bringing his father to death. Besides, there was the danger that even +now might be impending over these--the danger of discovery. Sir +Lionel's desperate threats might have some meaning, and who could tell +how it might result if he sought to carry out those threats? + +Brooding over such thoughts as these, she forgot about the lapse of +time, and at last was roused to herself by the entrance of a woman. She +was large and coarse and fat. + +At the door stood another woman. + +“Your room's ready, missus,” said the woman, bluntly. + +Lady Dudleigh rose. + +“I don't want a room,” said she. “I intend to go in a few minutes.” + +“Anyway, ye'd better come to your room now, and not keep us waitin',” + said the woman. + +“You needn't wait,” said Lady Dudleigh. + +“Come along,” said the woman, impatiently. “It's no use stayin' here +all day.” + +Lady Dudleigh felt annoyed at this insolence, and began to think that +Sir Lionel had run away while she had forgotten about him. She said +nothing to the women, but walked toward the door. The two stood there in +the way. + +“I will go down,” said she, haughtily, “and wait below. Go and tell Sir +Lionel.” + +The women stared at one another. + +[Illustration: “SHE WAS DRAGGED ALONG HELPLESSLY.”] + +“Sir Lionel Dudleigh,” said Lady Dudleigh, “is with Dr. Morton on +business. Tell him that I am tired of waiting, or take me to the room +where he is.” + +“Oh yes, 'm,” said one of the women; and saying this, she went down +stairs. + +In a few moments Dr. Morton came up, followed by the women. The two men +who had been standing at the door came into the hall, and stood there at +the foot of the stairs. + +“Where is Sir Lionel?” was Lady Dudleigh's first words. + +The doctor smiled blandly. + +“Well, he has just gone, you know; but he'll soon be back--oh yes, quite +soon. You wait here, and you may go to your room.” + +He spoke in an odd, coaxing tone, as though he were addressing some +fretful child whom it was desirable to humor. + +“Gone!” exclaimed Lady Dudleigh. + +“Yes, but he'll soon be back. You needn't wait long. And these women +will take you to your own room. You'll find it very pleasant.” + +“I have no room here,” said Lady Dudleigh, haughtily. “If Sir Lionel has +gone, I shall go too;” and with these words she tried to move past the +woman who was in front of her. But the woman would not move, and the +other woman and the doctor stood there looking at her. All at once the +truth dawned upon her, or a part of the truth. She had been brought +here, and they would keep her here. Who they were she could not imagine, +but their faces were not at all prepossessing. + +“Oh, it's all right,” said the doctor, in a smooth voice. “You shall go +to-morrow. We'll send for Sir Lionel.” + +“Dr. Morton,” said Lady Dudleigh, solemnly, “beware how you detain me. +Let me go, or you shall repent it. I don't know what your motive is, but +it will be a dangerous thing for you. I am Lady Dudleigh, and if you +dare to interfere with my movements you shall suffer.” + +“Oh yes, oh yes,” said the doctor. “You are Lady Dudleigh. Oh, of +course. And now come, Lady Dudleigh; you shall be treated just like a +lady, and have a nice room, and--” + +“What do you mean?” cried Lady Dudleigh, indignantly. “This insolence is +insufferable.” + +“Oh yes,” said the doctor; “it'll be all right, you know. Come, now; go +like a good lady to your room.” + +“Are you mad?” exclaimed Lady Dudleigh, in amazement. + +The doctor smiled and nodded. + +“What do you intend to do?” asked Lady Dudleigh, restraining herself +with a strong effort. + +“Oh, nothing; we shall put you in a nice room, you know--all so +pleasant--for you are not very well; and so. Susan, you just take the +lady's hand, and, Martha, you take the other, and we'll show her the way +to her room.” + +At this each of the women seized one of Lady Dudleigh's hands quickly +and dextrously, the result of long practice, and then they drew her out +of the room. Lady Dudleigh resisted, but her strength was useless. She +was dragged along helplessly, while all the time the doctor walked after +her, prattling in his usual way about “the nice room,” and how +“comfortable” she would find it. At length they reached a room, and she +was taken in. One of the women entered with her. Lady Dudleigh looked +around, and saw that the walls were bare and whitewashed; the floor was +uncarpeted; an iron bedstead and some simple furniture were around her, +and a small grated window gave light. + +It looked dreary enough, and sufficiently prison-like to appall any one +who might be thus suddenly thrust in there. Lady Dudleigh sank into a +chair exhausted, and the woman began to make her bed. + +“My good woman,” said Lady Dudleigh, anxious to get some clue to her +position, “can you tell me what all this means?” + +“Sure it's all for the good of your health,” said the woman. + +“But I'm not ill.” + +“No, not to say ill; but the body's often all right when the mind's all +wrong.” + +“The mind? There's nothing the matter with my mind. Dr. Morton has been +deceived. He would not dare to do this if he knew it.” + +“Sure, now, it's nothing at all, and you'll be well soon.” + +At these simple words of the woman Lady Dudleigh began to understand the +situation. This must be a lunatic asylum, a private one. Sir Lionel had +brought her here, and told the doctor that she was insane. The doctor +had accepted his statement, and had received her as such. This at once +accounted for his peculiar mode of addressing her. + +“There's a mistake,” said Lady Dudleigh, quietly. “Dr. Morton has been +deceived. Let me see him at once, please, and I will explain. He does +not know what a wrong he is doing. My good woman, I am no more mad than +you are.” + +“Dear, dear!” said the woman, going on placidly with her work; “that's +the way they all talk. There's not one of them that believes they're +mad.” + +“But I'm not mad at all,” said Lady Dudleigh, indignant at the woman's +obtuseness. + +“There, there; don't you go for to excite yourself,” said the woman, +soothingly. “But I s'pose you can't help it.” + +“So this is a mad-house, is it?” said Lady Dudleigh, gloomily, after a +pause. + +“Well, 'm, we don't call it that; we call it a 'sylum. It's Dr. Morton's +'sylum.” + +“Now see here,” said Lady Dudleigh, making a fresh effort, and trying to +be as cool as possible, “I am Lady Dudleigh. I have been brought here by +a trick. Dr. Morton is deceived. He is committing a crime in detaining +me. I am not mad. Look at me. Judge for yourself. Look at me, and say, +do I look like a madwoman?” + +The woman, thus appealed to, good-naturedly acquiesced, and looked at +Lady Dudleigh. + +“'Deed,” she remarked, “ye look as though ye've had a deal of sufferin' +afore ye came here, an' I don't wonder yer mind give way.” + +“Do I look like a madwoman?” repeated Lady Dudleigh, with a sense of +intolerable irritation at this woman's stupidity. + +“'Deed, then, an' I'm no judge. It's the doctor that decides.” + +“But what do you say? Come, now.” + +“Well, then, ye don't look very bad, exceptin' the glare an' glitter of +the eyes of ye, an' yer fancies.” + +“Fanciest? What fancies?” + +“Why, yer fancies that ye're Lady Dudleigh, an' all that about Sir +Lionel.” + +Lady Dudleigh started to her feet. + +“What!” she exclaimed. “Why, I am Lady Dudleigh.” + +“There, there!” said the woman, soothingly; “sure I forgot myself. Sure +ye are Lady Dudleigh, or any body else ye like. It's a dreadful +inveiglin' way ye have to trap a body the way ye do.” + +At this Lady Dudleigh was in despair. No further words were of any +avail. The woman was determined to humor her, and assented to every +thing she said. This treatment was so intolerable that Lady Dudleigh was +afraid to say any thing for fear that she would show the excitement of +her feelings, and such an exhibition would of course have been +considered as a fresh proof of her madness. + +The woman at length completed her task, and retired. + +Lady Dudleigh was left alone. She knew it all now. She remembered the +letter which Sir Lionel had written. In that he had no doubt arranged +this plan with Dr. Morton, and the coach had been ready at the station. +But in what part of the country this place was she had no idea, nor +could she know whether Dr. Morton was deceived by Sir Lionel, or was his +paid employé in this work of villainy. His face did not give her any +encouragement to hope for either honesty or mercy from him. + +It was an appalling situation, and she knew it. All the horrors that she +had ever heard of in connection with private asylums occurred to her +mind, and deepened the terror that surrounded her. All the other cares +of her life--the sorrow of bereavement, the anxiety for the sick, the +plans for Frederick Dalton--all these and many others now oppressed her +till her brain sank under the crushing weight. A groan of anguish burst +from her. + +“Sir Lionel's mockery will become a reality,” she thought. “I shall go +mad!” + +Meanwhile Sir Lionel had gone away. Leaving Lady Dudleigh in the room, +he had gone down stairs, and after a few hurried words with the doctor, +he left the house and entered the coach, which drove back to the +station. + +All the way he was in the utmost glee, rubbing his hands, slapping his +thighs, chuckling to himself, laughing and cheering. + +“Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!” he laughed. “Outwitted! The keeper--the +keeper caught! Ha, ha, ha! Why, she'll never get out--never! In for +life, Lionel, my boy! Mad! Why, by this time she's a raving maniac! Ha, +ha, ha! She swear against me! Who'd believe a madwoman, an idiot, a +lunatic, a bedlamite, a maniac--a howling, frenzied, gibbering, ranting, +raving, driveling, maundering, mooning maniac! And now for the boy +next--the parricide! Ha, ha, ha! Arrest him! No. Shut him up +here--both--with my friend Morton--both of them, mother and son, the +two--ha, ha, ha!--witnesses! One maniac! two maniacs! and then I shall +go mad with joy, and come here to live, and there shall be _three +maniacs_! Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha-a-a-a-a-a-a!” + +Sir Lionel himself seemed mad now. + +On leaving the coach, however, he became calmer, and taking the first +train that came up, resumed his journey. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + +THE BEDSIDE OF DALTON. + +Frederick Dalton remained in his prostrate condition, with no apparent +change either for the better or for the worse, and thus a month passed. + +One morning Dudleigh requested an interview with Edith. + +On entering the room he greeted her with his usual deep respect. + +[Illustration: “THEIR HANDS TOUCHED.”] + +“I hope you will excuse me for troubling you, Miss Dalton,” he said, +“but I wish very much to ask your opinion about your father. He +remains, as you know, unchanged, and this inn is not the place for him. +The air is close, the place is noisy, and it is impossible for him to +have that perfect quiet which he so greatly needs. Dudleigh Manor is too +far away, but there is another place close by. I am aware, Miss Dalton, +that Dalton Hall must be odious to you, and therefore I hesitate to ask +you to take your father to that place. Yet he ought to go there, and at +once. As for yourself, I hope that the new circumstances under which you +will live there will make it less unpleasant; and, let me add, for my +own part, it shall be my effort to see that you, who have been so deeply +wronged, shall be righted--with all and before all. As to myself,” he +continued, “I would retire, and relieve you of my presence, which can +not be otherwise than painful, but there are two reasons why I ought to +remain. The first is your father. You yourself are not able to take all +the care of him, and there is no other who can share it except myself. +Next to yourself, no one can be to him what I am, nor is there any one +with whom I would be willing to leave him. He must not be left to a +servant. He must be nursed by those who love him. And so I must stay +with him wherever he is. In addition to this, however, my presence at +Dalton Hall will effectually quell the vulgar clamor, and all the rumors +that have been prevailing for the last few months will be silenced.” + +Dudleigh spoke all this calmly and seriously, but beneath his words +there was something in his tone which conveyed a deeper meaning. That +tone was more than respectful--it was almost reverential--as though the +one to whom he spoke required from him more than mere courtesy. In spite +of his outward calm, there was also an emotion in his voice which showed +that the calm was assumed, and that beneath it lay something which could +not be all concealed. In his eyes, as he fixed them on Edith, there was +that same reverential regard, which seemed to speak of devotion and +loyalty; something stronger than admiration, something deeper than +sympathy, was expressed from them. And yet it was this that he himself +tried to conceal. It was as though this feeling of his burst forth +irrepressibly through all concealment, as though the intensity of this +feeling made even his calmest words and commonest formulas fall of a new +and deeper meaning. + +In that reverence and profound devotion thus manifest there was nothing +which could be otherwise than grateful to Edith. Certainly she could not +take offense, for his words and his looks afforded nothing which could +by any possibility give rise to that. + +For a whole month this man had been before her, a constant attendant on +her father, sleeping his few hours in an adjoining chamber, with scarce +a thought beyond that prostrate friend. All the country had been +searched for the best advice or the best remedies, and nothing had been +omitted which untiring affection could suggest. During all this time +she had scarce seen him. In the delicacy of his regard for her he had +studiously kept out of her way, as though unwilling to allow his +presence to give her pain. A moment might occasionally be taken up with +a few necessary arrangements as she would enter, but that was all. He +patiently waited till she retired before he ventured to come in himself. + +No; in that noble face, pale from illness or from sadness, with the +traces of sorrow upon it, and the marks of long vigils by the bedside of +her father--in that refined face, whose expression spoke only of +elevation of soul, and exhibited the perfect type of manly beauty, there +was certainly nothing that could excite repugnance, but every thing that +might inspire confidence. + +Edith saw all this, and remarked it while listening to him; and she +thought she had never seen any thing so pure in its loyalty, so profound +in its sympathy, and so sweet in its sad grace as that face which was +now turned toward her with its eloquent eyes. + +She did not say much. A few words signified her assent to the proposal. +Dudleigh said that he would make all the necessary arrangements, and +that she should have no trouble whatever. With this he took his +departure. + +That same evening another visitor came. It was a pale, slender girl, +who gave her name as Lucy Ford. She said that she had been sent by +Captain Dudleigh. She heard that Edith had no maid, and wished to get +that situation. Edith hesitated for a moment. Could she accept so +direct a favor from Dudleigh, or give him that mark of confidence? Her +hesitation was over at once. She could give him that, and she accepted +the maid. The next day came a housekeeper and two or three others, all +sent by Dudleigh, all of whom were accepted by her. For Dudleigh had +found out somehow the need of servants at Dalton Hall, and had taken +this way of supplying that prime requisite. + +It then remained to move Dalton. He still continued in the same +condition, not much changed physically, but in a state of mental torpor, +the duration of which no one was able to foretell. Two short stages were +required to take him to Dalton Hall. For this a litter was procured, and +he was carried all the way. Edith went, with her maid and housekeeper, +in a carriage, Dudleigh on horseback, and the other servants, with the +luggage, in various conveyances. + +Dalton received no benefit from his journey, but his friends were happy +enough that he had received no injury. The medical attendance at Dalton +Hall was, as before, the best that could be obtained, and all the care +that affection could suggest was lavished upon him. + +From what has already been said, it will be seen that in making this +migration to Dalton Hall, Dudleigh was regardful of many things besides +the patient. He had made every arrangement for the comfort of the +occupants. He had sought out all the domestics that were necessary to +diffuse an air of home over such a large establishment, and had been +careful to submit them to Edith for her approval. He had also procured +horses and grooms and carriages, and every thing that might conduce to +the comfort of life. The old solitude and loneliness were thus +terminated. The new housekeeper prevented Edith from feeling any anxiety +about domestic concerns, and the servants all showed themselves well +trained and perfectly subordinate. + +Dalton's room was at the west end of the building. Edith occupied her +old apartments. Dudleigh took that which had belonged to his “double.” + The housekeeper took the room that had been occupied by Lady Dudleigh. + +Dudleigh was as devoted as ever to the sick man. He remained at his +bedside through the greater part of the nights and through the mornings. +In the afternoons he retired as before, and gave place to Edith. When +he was there he sometimes had a servant upon whom he could rely, and +then, if he felt unusual fatigue, and circumstances were favorable, he +was able to snatch a little sleep. He usually went to bed at two in the +afternoon, rose at seven, and in that brief sleep, with occasional naps +during the morning, obtained enough to last him for the day. With this +rest he was satisfied, and needed, or at least sought for, no +recreation. During the hours of the morning he was able to attend to +those outside duties that required overseeing or direction. + +But while he watched in this way over the invalid, he was not a mere +watcher. That invalid required, after all, but little at the hands of +his nurses, and Dudleigh had much to do. + +On his arrival at Dalton Hall he had possessed himself of all the papers +that his “double” had left behind him, and these he diligently studied, +so as to be able to carry out with the utmost efficiency the purpose +that he had in his mind. It was during the long watches of the night +that he studied these papers, trying to make out from them the manner of +life and the associates of the one who had left them, trying also to +arrive at some clew to his mysterious disappearance. This study he +could keep up without detriment to his office of attendant, and while +watching over the invalid he could carry out his investigations. +Sometimes, in the afternoons, after indulging in more frequent naps than +usual during the mornings, he was able to go out for a ride about the +grounds. He was a first-rate horseman, and Edith noticed his admirable +seat as she looked from the windows of her father's room. + +Thus time went on. + +Gradually Dudleigh and Edith began to occupy a different position toward +one another. At the inn their relations were as has been shown. But +after their arrival at Dalton Hall there occurred a gradual change. + +As Edith came to the room on the first day, Dudleigh waited. On entering +she saw his eyes fixed on her with an expression of painful suspense, of +earnest, eager inquiry. In that eloquent appealing glance all his soul +seemed to beam from his eyes. It was reverent, it was almost humble, yet +it looked for some small concession. May I hope? it said. Will you give +a thought to me? See, I stand here, and I hang upon your look. Will you +turn away from me? + +Edith did not repel that mute appeal. There was that in her face which +broke down Dudleigh's reserve. He advanced toward her and held out his +hand. She did not reject it. + +It was but a commonplace thing to do--it was what might have been done +before--yet between these two it was far from common-place. Their hands +touched, their eyes met, but neither spoke a word. It was but a light +grasp that Dudleigh gave. Reverentially, yet tenderly, he took that +hand, not venturing to go beyond what might be accorded to the merest +stranger, but contenting himself with that one concession. With that he +retired, carrying with him the remembrance of that nearer approach, and +the hope of what yet might be. + +After that the extreme reserve was broken down. Each day, on meeting, a +shake of the hands was accompanied by something more. Between any +others these greetings would have been the most natural thing in the +world; but here it was different. There was one subject in which each +took the deepest interest, and about which each had something to say. +Frederick Dalton's health was precious to each, and each felt anxiety +about his condition. This formed a theme about which they might speak. + +As Dudleigh waited for Edith, so Edith waited for Dudleigh; and still +there were the same questions to be asked and answered. Standing thus +together in that sick-room, with one life forming a common bond between +them, conversing in low whispers upon one so dear to both, it would have +been strange indeed if any thing like want of confidence had remained on +either side. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + +A BETTER UNDERSTANDING. + +Dudleigh lived on as before, assiduous in his attendance, dividing his +time chiefly between nursing and study of the papers already mentioned. +He never went out of the grounds on those occasional rides, and if any +one in the neighborhood noticed this, the recent sad events might have +been considered an excuse. Thus these two were thrown upon one another +exclusively. For each there was no other society. As for Edith, Dudleigh +had done so much that she felt a natural gratitude; and more than this, +there was in her mind a sense of security and of dependence. + +Meanwhile Dudleigh's pale face grew paler. His sleep had all along been +utterly inadequate, and the incessant confinement had begun to show its +effects. He had been accustomed to an open-air life and vigorous +exercise. This quiet watching at the bedside of Dalton was more trying +to his strength than severe labor could have been. + +The change in him was not lost on Edith, and even if gratitude toward +him had been wanting, common humanity would have impelled her to speak +about it. + +One day, as she came in, she was struck by his appearance. His face was +ghastly white, and he had been sitting with his head in his hands as she +softly entered. In an instant, as he heard her step, he started up, and +advanced with a radiant smile, a smile caused by her approach. + +“I'm afraid that you are overtasking yourself,” said Edith, gently, +after the usual greeting. “You are here too much. The confinement is +too trying. You must take more rest and exercise.” + +Dudleigh's face was suffused with a sudden glow of delight. + +“It is kind of you to notice it,” said he, earnestly, “but I'm sure you +are mistaken. I could do far more if necessary. This is my place, and +this is my truest occupation.” + +“For that very reason,” said Edith, in tones that showed more concern +than she would have cared to acknowledge--“for that very reason you +ought to preserve yourself--for his sake. You confine yourself here too +much, and take too little rest. I see that you feel it already.” + +“I?” said Dudleigh, with a light laugh, whose musical cadence sounded +very sweet to Edith, and revealed to her another side of his character +very different from that sad and melancholy one which he had thus far +shown--“I? Why, you have no idea of my capacity for this sort of thing. +Excuse me, Miss Dalton, but it seems absurd to talk of my breaking down +under such work as this.” + +Edith shook her head. + +“You show traces of it,” said she, in a gentle voice, looking away from +him, “which common humanity would compel me to notice. You must not do +all the work; I must have part of it.” + +“_You?_” exclaimed Dudleigh, with infinite tenderness in his tone. +“Do you think that I would allow _you_ to spend any more time here +than you now do, or that I would spare myself at the expense of +_your_ health? Never! Aside from the fact that your father is so +dear to me, there are considerations for you which would lead me to die +at my post rather than allow you to have any more trouble.” + +There was a fervor in Dudleigh's tones which penetrated to Edith's +heart. There was a deep glow in his eyes as he looked at her which Edith +did not care to encounter. + +“You are of far more importance to Sir Lionel than I am,” said she, +after a pause which began to be embarrassing. “But what will become of +him if--if you are prostrated?” + +“I shall not be prostrated,” said Dudleigh. + +“I think you will if this state of things continues.” + +“Oh, I don't think there is any prospect of my giving up just yet.” + +“No. I know your affection for him, and that it would keep you here +until--until you could not stay any longer; and it is this which I wish +to avoid.” + +“It is my duty,” said Dudleigh. “He is one whom I revere more than any +other man, and love as a father. Besides, there are other things that +bind me to him--his immeasurable wrongs, his matchless patience--wrongs +inflicted by one who is my father; and I, as the son, feel it a holy +duty, the holiest of all duties, to stand by that bedside and devote +myself to him. He is your father, Miss Dalton, but you have never known +him as I have known him--the soul of honor, the stainless gentleman, the +ideal of chivalry and loyalty and truth. This he is, and for this he +lies there, and my wretched father it is who has done this deed. But +that father is a father only in name, and I have long ago transferred a +son's love and a son's duty to that gentle and noble and injured +friend.” + +This outburst of feeling came forth from Dudleigh's inmost heart, and +was spoken with a passionate fervor which showed how deeply he felt what +he said. Every word thrilled through Edith. Bitter self-reproach at that +moment came to her, as she thought of her own relations to her father. +What Dudleigh's had been she did not know, but she saw that in him her +father had found a son. And what had his daughter been to him? Of that +she dared not think. Her heart was wrung with sharp anguish at the +memories of the past, while at the same time she felt drawn more closely +to Dudleigh, who had thus been to him all that she had failed to be. Had +she spoken what she thought, she would have thanked and blessed him for +those words. But she did not dare to trust herself to speak of that; +rather she tried to restrain herself; and when she spoke, it was with a +strong effort at this self-control. + +“Well,” she said, in a voice which was tremulous in spite of all her +efforts, “this shows how dear you must be to him, since he has found +such love in you, and so for his sake you must spare yourself. You must +not stay here so constantly.” + +“Who is there to take my place?” asked Dudleigh, quietly. + +“I,” said Edith. + +Dudleigh smiled. + +“Do you think,” said he, “that I would allow that? Even if I needed more +rest, which I do not, do you think that I would take it at your +expense--that I would go away, enjoy myself, and leave you to bear the +fatigue? No, Miss Dalton; I am not quite so selfish as that.” + +“But you will let me stay here more than I do,” said Edith, earnestly. +“I may as well be here as in my own room. Will you not let me have half +the care, and occasionally allow you to take rest?” + +She spoke timidly and anxiously, as though she was asking some favor. +And this was the feeling that she had, for it seemed to her that this +man, who had been a son to her father, had more claims on his love, and +a truer right here, than she, the unworthy daughter. + +Dudleigh smiled upon her with infinite tenderness as he replied: + +“Half the care! How could you endure it? You are too delicate for so +much. You do too much already, and I am only anxious to relieve you of +that. I was going to urge you to give up half of the afternoon, and take +it myself.” + +“Give up half the afternoon!” cried Edith. “Why, I want to do more.” + +“But that is impossible. You are not strong enough,” said Dudleigh. “I +fear all the time that you are now overworking yourself. I would never +forgive myself if you received any harm from this.” + +“Oh, I am very much stronger than you suppose. Besides, nursing is +woman's work, and would fatigue me far less than you.” + +“I can not bear to have you fatigue yourself in any way. You must +not--and I would do far more rather than allow you to have any trouble.” + +“But even if my health should suffer, it would not be of much +consequence. So at least let me relieve you of something.” + +“Your health?” said Dudleigh, looking at her with an earnest glance; +“your health? Why, that is every thing. Mine is nothing. Can you +suggest such a thing to me as that I should allow any trouble to come to +you? Besides, your delicate health already alarms me. You have not yet +recovered from your illness. You are not capable of enduring fatigue, +and I am always reproaching myself for allowing you to stay here as much +as you do. The Dudleighs have done enough. They have brought the father +to this;” and he pointed mournfully to the bed. “But,” he added, in a +tremulous voice, “the daughter should at least be saved, and to have +harm come to her would be worse than death itself--to me.” + +Edith was silent for a few moments. Her heart was beating fast. When she +spoke, it was with an effort, and in as calm a voice as possible. + +“Oh,” she said, “I am quite recovered. Indeed, I am as well as ever, +and I wish to spend more time here. Will you not let me stay here +longer?” + +“How can I? The confinement would wear you out.” + +“It would not be more fatiguing than staying in my own room,” persisted +Edith. + +“I'm afraid there would be very much difference,” said Dudleigh. “In +your own room you have no particular anxiety, but here you would have +the incessant responsibility of a nurse. You would have to watch your +father, and every movement would give you concern.” + +“And this harassing care is what I wish to save you from, and share with +you,” said Edith, earnestly. “Will you not consent to this?” + +“To share it with you?” said Dudleigh looking at her with unutterable +tenderness. “To share it with you?” he repeated. “It would be only too +much happiness for me to do so, but not if you are going to overwork +yourself.” + +“But I will not,” said Edith. “If I do, I can stop. I only ask to be +allowed to come in during the morning, so as to relieve you of some of +your work. You will consent, will you not?” + +Edith asked him this as though Dudleigh had exclusive right here, and +she had none. She could not help feeling as if this was so, and this +feeling arose from those memories which she had of that terrible past, +when she ignorantly hurled at that father's heart words that stung like +the stings of scorpions. Never could she forgive herself for that, and +for this she now humbled herself in this way. Her tone was so pleading +that Dudleigh could refuse no longer. With many deprecatory expressions, +and many warnings and charges, he at last consented to let her divide +the morning attendance with him. She was to come in at eleven o'clock. + +This arrangement was at once acted upon. On the following day Edith +came to her father's room at eleven. Dudleigh had much to ask her, and +much to say to her, about her father's condition. He was afraid that she +was not strong enough. He seemed to half repent his agreement. On the +other hand, Edith assured him most earnestly that she was strong enough, +that she would come here for the future regularly at eleven o'clock, and +urged him to take care of his own health, and seek some recreation by +riding about the grounds. This Dudleigh promised to do in the afternoon, +but just then he seemed in no hurry to go. He lingered on. They talked +in low whispers, with their heads close together. They had much to talk +about; her health, his health, her father's condition--all these had to +be discussed. Thus it was that the last vestiges of mutual reserve +began to be broken down. + +Day succeeded to day, and Edith always came to her father's room in the +morning. At first she always urged Dudleigh to go off and take +exercise, but at length she ceased to urge him. For two or three hours +every day they saw much of one another, and thus associated under +circumstances which enforced the closest intimacy and the strongest +mutual sympathy. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + +CAPTAIN CRUIKSHANK. + +While these things were going on, the world outside was not altogether +indifferent to affairs in Dalton Hall. In the village and in the +immediate neighborhood rumor had been busy, and at length the vague +statements of the public voice began to take shape. + +This is what rumor said: Dudleigh is an impostor! + +An impostor, it said. For the true Dudleigh, it asserted, was still +missing. This was not the real man. The remains found in the well had +never been accounted for. Justice had foregone its claims too readily. +The act remained, and the blood of the slain called aloud for vengeance. + +How such a strange report was first started no one knew; but there it +was, and the Dalton mystery remained as obscure as ever. + +Various circumstances contributed to increase the public suspicion. All +men saw that Dudleigh was different from this man, or else he had +greatly changed. For the former was always outside, in the world, while +this man remained secluded and shut up in the Hall. Why did he never +show himself? Why did he surround himself with all this secrecy? This +was the question. + +The servants were eagerly questioned whenever any of them made their +appearance in the village, but as they were all new in the place, their +testimony was of little value. They could only say that he was devoted +to the invalid, and that he called Miss Dalton by that name, and had +called her by that name when he engaged them for her service. + +Soon public opinion took two different forms, and two parties arose. One +of these believed the present Dudleigh to be an impostor; the other, +however, maintained that he was the real man, and that the change in his +character was to be accounted for on the grounds of the terrible +calamities that had resulted from his thoughtlessness, together with his +own repentance for the suffering which he had inflicted. + +Meanwhile the subject of all this excitement and gossip was living in +his own seclusion, quite apart from the outside world. One change, +however, had taken place in his life which required immediate action on +his part. + +A great number of letters had come for “Captain Dudleigh.” The receipt +of these gave him trouble. They were reminders of various pecuniary +obligations which had been contracted some time previously. They were, +in short--duns. He had been at Dalton Hall some six weeks before these +interesting letters began to arrive. After that time they came in +clusters, fast and frequent. The examination of these formed no small +part of his occupation when he was alone. + +Some of these letters were jocular in their tone, reminding him of his +chronic impecuniosity, and his well-known impracticability in every +thing relating to money. These jocular letters, however, never failed to +remind him that, as he had made a rich match, there was no reason why he +should not pay his debts, especially as the writers were hard up, and +had waited so long without troubling him. These jocular letters, in +fact, informed him that if a settlement was not made at once, it would +be very much the worse for Dudleigh. + +Others were from old sporting companions, reminding him of bets which +had not been paid, expressing astonishment which was child-like in its +simplicity, and requesting an immediate settlement. These were generally +short, curt, and altogether unpleasant. + +Others were business letters, containing the announcement of notes +falling due. Others were from lawyers, stating the fact that certain +specified claims had been put in their hands for collection, and +requesting early attention. + +All these seemed to come together. Misfortunes, says the proverb, never +come singly, and duns may fairly be reckoned among misfortunes. These +duns, however, troublesome though they were, were one by one got rid of +by the simple and effectual process of payment; for Dudleigh considered +it on the whole safer and better, under these peculiar circumstances, to +pay the money which was demanded than to expose himself to arrest or +lawsuits. + +In connection with these affairs an event occurred which at the time +caused uneasiness, and gave the prospect of future trouble. One day a +gentleman called and sent up his card. It was Captain Cruikshank. The +name Dudleigh recognized as one which had been appended to several +dunning letters of the most importunate kind, and the individual himself +was apparently some sporting friend. + +On going down Dudleigh saw a portly, bald-headed man, with large +whiskers, standing in front of one of the drawing-room windows, looking +out. He seemed midway between a gentleman and a blackleg, being neither +altogether one nor the other. At the noise of Dudleigh's entrance he +turned quickly around, and with a hearty, bluff manner walked up to him +and held out his hand. + +Dudleigh fixed his eyes steadily upon those of the other man, and bowed, +without accepting the proffered hand, appearing not to see it. His whole +mien was full of aristocratic reserve, and cold, repellent distance of +manner, which checked the other in the midst of a full tide of voluble +congratulations into which he had flung himself. Thus interrupted, he +looked confused, stammered, and finally said, + +“'Pon my honor, Dudleigh, you don't appear to be overcordial with an old +friend, that's seen you through so many scrapes as I have.” + +“Circumstances,” said Dudleigh, “of a very painful character have forced +me to sever myself completely from all my former associates--all, +without exception.” + +“Well, of course--as to that, it's all right, I dare say,” remarked the +other, from whom Dudleigh never removed his eyes; “but then, you know, +it seems to me that some friends ought to be--a--retained, you know, and +you and I, you know, were always of that sort that we were useful to one +another.” + +This was thrown out as a very strong hint on the part of Captain +Cruikshank, and he watched Dudleigh earnestly to see its effect. + +“I make no exceptions whatever,” said Dudleigh. “What has occurred to me +is the same as death. I am dead virtually to the world in which I once +lived. My former friends and acquaintances are the same as though I had +never known them.” + +[Illustration: “WELL, REALLY--YES, THIS IS IT.”] + +“Gad! something has come over you, that's a fact,” said Captain +Cruikshank. “You're a changed man, whatever the reason is. Well, you +have a right to choose for yourself, and I can't be offended. At the +same time, if you ever want to join the old set again, let me know, and +I promise you there'll be no difficulty.” + +Dudleigh bowed. + +“But then I suppose you're settled down in such infernally comfortable +quarters,” continued the other, “that it's not likely you'll ever +trouble us again. Married and done for--that's the word. Plenty of +money, and nothing to do.” + +“If you have anything particular to say,” said Dudleigh, coldly, “I +should like to hear it; if not, I must excuse myself, as I am +particularly engaged.” + +“Oh, no offense, no offense; I merely came to offer an old friend's +congratulations, you know, and--By-the-way,” continued Cruikshank, +lowering his voice, “there's that little I O U of yours. I thought +perhaps you might find it convenient to settle, and if so, it would be a +great favor to me.” + +“What is the amount?” asked Dudleigh, who remembered this particular +debt perfectly well, since it had been the subject of more than one +letter of a most unpleasant character. + +“The amount?” said Cruikshank. “Well, really--let me see--I don't quite +remember, but I'll find out in a moment.” + +With these words he drew forth his pocket-book and fumbled among the +papers. At length he produced one, and tried hard to look as if he had +not known all along perfectly well what that amount was. + +“Well, really--yes, this is it,” he remarked, as he looked at a piece of +paper. “The amount, did you say? The amount is just two hundred pounds. +It's not much for you, as you are now situated, I should suppose.” + +“Is that the note?” asked Dudleigh, who was anxious to get rid of this +visitor, and suspected all along that he might have a deeper purpose +than the mere collection of a debt. + +“That is the note,” said Cruikshank. + +“I will pay it now,” said Dudleigh. + +He left the room for a short time, and during his absence Cruikshank +amused himself with staring at the portrait of “Captain Dudleigh,” which +hung in a conspicuous position before his eyes. He was not kept long +waiting, for Dudleigh soon returned, and handed him the money. +Cruikshank took it with immense satisfaction, and handed the note over +in return, which Dudleigh carefully transferred to his own pocket-book, +where he kept many other such papers. + +Cruikshank now bade him a very effusive adieu. Dudleigh stood at the +window watching the retreating figure of his visitor. + +“I wonder how long this sort of thing can go on?” he murmured. “I don't +like this acting on the defensive. I'll have to make the attack myself +soon.” + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + +EDITH'S NEW FRIEND. + +Every day Edith and Dudleigh saw more and more of one another. Now that +the crust of reserve was broken through, and something like intimacy had +been reached, the sick man's apartment was the most natural place for +each to seek. It came at last that the mornings and afternoons were no +longer allotted to each exclusively, but while one watched, the other +would often be present. In the evenings especially the two were together +there. + +The condition in which Dalton was demanded quiet, yet needed but little +direct attention. It was only necessary that some one should be in the +room with him. He lay, as has been said, in a state of stupor, and knew +nothing of what was going on. It was only necessary for those who might +be with him to give him, from time to time, the medicines that had been +prescribed by the physicians, or the nourishment which nature demanded. +Apart from this there was little now to be done. + +While Edith and Dudleigh were thus together, they were naturally +dependent exclusively upon one another. This association seemed not +unpleasant to either of them; every day it gained a new charm; and at +length both came to look forward to this as the chief pleasure of their +lives. For Edith there was no other companion than Dudleigh in Dalton +Hall with whom she could associate on equal terms; he had strong claims +now on her confidence, and even on her gratitude; and while he was thus +the only one to whom she could look for companionship, she also bore the +same relation to him. + +There was something in the look and in the manner of Dudleigh in these +interviews which might have moved a colder nature than that of Edith. +Whenever he entered and greeted her, his face was overspread by a +radiant expression that spoke of joy and delight. Whenever they met, his +face told all the feelings of his heart. Yet never in any way, either by +word or act, did he venture upon any thing which might not have been +witnessed by all the world. There was something touching in that deep +joy of his which was inspired simply by her presence, and in the peace +and calm that came over him while she was near. Elsewhere it was +different with him. Whenever she had seen his face outside--and that had +been often, for she had often seen him riding or walking in front of the +windows--she had marked how care-worn and sad its expression was; she +had marked a cloud of melancholy upon his brow, that bore witness to +some settled grief unknown to her, and had read in all the lineaments of +his features the record which some mysterious sorrow had traced there. +Yet in her presence all this departed, and the eyes that looked on her +grew bright with happiness, and the face that was turned toward her was +overspread with joy. Could it be any other than herself who made this +change? + +There was something in the manner of this man toward her which was +nothing less than adoration. The delicate grace of his address, the deep +reverence of his look, the intonations of his voice, tremulous with an +emotion that arose from the profoundest depths of his nature, all bore +witness to this. For when he spoke to her, even about the most trifling +things, there was that in his tone which showed that the subject upon +which he was speaking was nothing, but the one to whom he was speaking +was all in all. He stood before her like one with a fervid nature, +intense in its passion, and profound in all its emotion, who under a +calm exterior concealed a glow of feeling which burned in his heart like +a consuming fire--a feeling that was kept under restraint by the force +of will, but which, if freed from restraint but for one moment, would +burst forth and bear down all before it. + +Weeks passed away, but amidst all the intimacy of their association +there never appeared the slightest attempt on his part to pass beyond +the limits which he had set for himself. Another man under such +circumstances might have ventured upon something like a greater +familiarity, but with this man there was no such attempt. After all +their interviews he still stood in spirit at a distance, with the same +deep reverence in his look, and the same profound adoration in his +manner, regarding her as one might regard a divinity. For Dudleigh stood +afar off, yet like a worshiper--far off, as though he deemed that +divinity of his inaccessible--yet none the less did his devotion make +itself manifest. All this was not to be seen in his words, but rather in +his manner, in the expression of his face, and in the attitude of his +soul, as it became manifest to her whom he adored. + +For she could not but see it; in matters of this sort woman's eyes are +keen; but here any one might have perceived the deep devotion of +Dudleigh. The servants saw it, and talked about it. What was plain to +them could not but be visible to her. She saw it--she knew it--and what +then? Certainly it was not displeasing. The homage thus paid was too +delicate to give offense; it was of that kind which is most flattering +to the heart, which never grows familiar, but is insinuated or suggested +rather than expressed. + +It was consoling to her lonely heart to see one like this, who, whenever +she appeared, would pass from a state of sadness to one of happiness; to +see his eloquent eyes fixed upon her with a devotion beyond words; to +hear his voice, which, while it spoke the commonplaces of welcome, was +yet in its tremulous tones expressive of a meaning very different from +that which lay in the words. Naturally enough, she was touched by this +silent reverence which she thus inspired; and as she had already found +cause to trust him, so she soon came to trust him still more. She +looked up to him as one with whom she might confer, not only with +reference to her father, but also with regard to the conduct of the +estate. Thus many varied subjects grew up for their consideration, and +gradually the things about which they conversed grew more and more +personal. Beginning with Mr. Dalton, they at last ended with themselves, +and Dudleigh on many occasions found opportunity of advising Edith on +matters where her own personal interest or welfare was concerned. + +Thus their intimacy deepened constantly from the very necessities of +their position. + +Then there was the constant anxiety which each felt and expressed about +the health of the other. Each had urged the other to give up the +allotted portion of attendance. This had ended in both of them keeping +up that attendance together for a great part of the time. Nevertheless, +the subject of one another's health still remained. Dudleigh insisted +that Edith had not yet recovered, that she was nothing better than a +convalescent, and that she ought not to risk such close confinement. +Edith, on the contrary, insisted that she was able to do far more, and +that the confinement was injuring him far more than herself. On one +occasion she asked him what he thought would become of her if he too +became ill, and the care of the two should thus devolve upon her. + +At this remark, which escaped Edith in the excitement of an argument +about the interesting subject of one another's health, Dudleigh's face +lighted up. He looked at her with an expression that spoke more than +words could tell. Yet he said nothing. He said nothing in words, but +his eyes spoke an intelligible language, and she could well understand +what was thus expressed. + +What was it that they said? + +O loved! and O adored beyond weak words! O divinity of mine! they said. +If death should be the end of this, then such death would be sweet, if I +could but die in your presence! O loved and longed for! they said. +Between us there is an impassable barrier. I stand without; I seek not +to break through; but even at a distance I love, and I adore! + +And that was what Edith understood. Her eyes sank before his gaze. They +sat in silence for a long time, and neither of them ventured to break +that silence by words. + +At length Dudleigh proposed that they should both go out for a short +time each day together. This he had hesitated to do on account of Mr. +Dalton. Yet, after all, there was no necessity for them to be there +always. Mr. Dalton, in his stupor, was unconscious of their presence, +and their absence could therefore make no difference to him, either with +regard to his feelings or the attention which he received. When Dudleigh +made his proposal, he mentioned this also, and Edith saw at once its +truth. She therefore consented quite readily, and with a gratification +that she made no attempt to conceal. + +Why should she not? She had known enough of sorrow. Dalton Hall had thus +far been to her nothing else than a prison-house. Why should it not +afford her some pleasure as an offset to former pain? Here was an +opportunity of obtaining at last some compensation. She could go forth +into the bright free open air under the protection of one whose loyalty +and devotion had been sufficiently proved. Could she hope for any +pleasanter companion? + +Thus a new turn took place in the lives of these two. The mornings they +passed in Mr. Dalton's room, and in the afternoons, except when there +was unpleasant weather, they went out together. Sometimes they strolled +through the grounds, down the lordly avenues, and over the soft sweet +meadows; at other times they went on horseback. The grounds were +extensive and beautiful, but confinement within the park inclosure was +attended with unpleasant memories, and so, in the ordinary course of +things, they naturally sought the wider, freer world outside. + +The country around Dalton Hall was exceedingly beautiful, and rich in +all those peculiar English charms whose quiet grace is so attractive to +the refined taste. Edith had never enjoyed any opportunity of seeing all +this, and now it opened before her like a new world. Formerly, during +her long imprisonment, she had learned to think of that outside world as +one which was full of every thing that was most delightful; there +freedom dwelt; and that thought was enough to make it fair and sweet to +her. So the prisoner always thinks of that which lies beyond his prison +walls, and imagines that if he were once in that outer world he would be +in the possession of perfect happiness. + +Horseback riding has advantages which make it superior to every other +kind of exercise. On foot one is limited and restrained, for progress +is slow; and although one can go any where, yet the pedestrian who +wishes for enjoyment must only stroll. Any thing else is too fatiguing. +But a small space can be traversed, and that only with considerable +fatigue. In a carriage there is ease and comfort; but the high-road +forms the limit of one's survey; to that he must keep, and not venture +out of the smooth beaten track. But on horseback all is different. +There one has something of the comfort of the carriage and something of +the freedom of the pedestrian. Added to this, there is an exhilaration +in the motion itself which neither of the others presents. The most +rapid pace can alternate with the slowest; the highway no longer forms +bounds to the journey; distance is no obstacle where enjoyment is +concerned; and few places are inaccessible which it is desirable to see. +The generous animal which carries his rider is himself an additional +element of pleasure; for he himself seems to sympathize with all his +rider's feelings, and to such an extent that even the solitary horseman +is not altogether alone. + +This was the pleasure which Edith was now able to enjoy with Dudleigh as +her companion, and the country was one which afforded the best +opportunity for such exercise. Dudleigh was, as has been said, a +first-rate horseman, and managed his steed like one who had been brought +up from childhood to that accomplishment. Edith also had always been +fond of riding; at school she had been distinguished above all the +others for her skill and dash in this respect; and there were few places +where, if Dudleigh led, she would not follow. + +All the pleasure of this noble exercise was thus enjoyed by both of them +to the fullest extent. There was an exhilaration in it which each felt +equally. The excitement of the rapid gallop or the full run, the quiet +sociability of the slow walk, the perfect freedom of movement in almost +any direction, were all appreciated by one as much as by the other. +Then, too, the country itself was of that character which was best +adapted to give pleasure. There were broad public roads, hard, smooth, +and shadowed by overarching trees--roads such as are the glory of +England, and with which no other country has any that can compare. Then +there were by-roads leading from one public road to another, as smooth +and as shadowy as the others, but far more inviting, since they +presented greater seclusion and scenes of more quiet picturesque beauty. +Here they encountered pleasant lanes leading through peaceful +sequestered valleys, beside gently flowing streams and babbling brooks, +where the trees overarched most grandly and the shade was most +refreshing. Here they loved best to turn, and move slowly onward at a +pace best suited to quiet observation and agreeable conversation. + +Such a change from the confinement of Dalton Hall and Dalton Park was +unspeakably delightful to Edith. She had no anxiety about leaving her +father, nor had Dudleigh; for in his condition the quiet housekeeper +could do all that he would require in their absence. To Edith this +change was more delightful than to Dudleigh, since she had Felt those +horrors of imprisonment which he had not. These rides through the wide +country, so free, so unrestrained, brought to her a delicious sense of +liberty. For the first time in many weary months she felt that she was +her own mistress. She was free, and she could enjoy with the most +intense delight all the new pleasures of this free and unrestrained +existence. So in these rides she was always joyous, always gay, and even +enthusiastic. It was to her like the dawn of a new life, and into that +life she threw herself with an abandonment of feeling that evinced +itself in unrestrained enjoyment of every thing that presented itself to +her view. + +Dudleigh, however, was very different. In him there had always appeared +a certain restraint. His manner toward Edith had that devotion and +respect which have already been described; he was as profound and +sincere in his homage and as tender in his loyalty as ever; but even +now, under these far more favorable circumstances, he did not venture +beyond the limits of courtesy--those limits which society has +established and always recognizes. From the glance of his eyes, however, +from the tone of his voice, and from his whole mien, there could be seen +the deep fervor of his feelings toward Edith; but though the tones were +often tremulous with deep feeling, the words that he spoke seldom +expressed more than the formulas of politeness. His true meaning lay +behind or beneath his words. His quiet manner was therefore not the sign +of an unemotional nature, but rather of strong passion reined in and +kept in check by a powerful will, the sign and token of a nature which +had complete mastery over itself, so that never on any occasion could a +lawless impulse burst forth. + +These two were therefore not uncongenial--the one with her enthusiasm, +her perfect abandon of feeling, the other with his self-command, his +profound devotion. Their tastes were alike. By a common impulse they +sought the same woodland paths, or directed their course to the same +picturesque scenes; they admired the same beauties, or turned away with +equal indifference from the commonplace, the tame, or the prosaic. The +books which they liked were generally the same. No wonder that the +change was a pleasant one to Edith. These rides began to bring back to +her the fresh feeling of her buoyant school-girl days, and restore to +her that joyous spirit and that radiant fancy which had distinguished +her at Plympton Terrace. + +Riding about thus every where, these two became conspicuous. The public +mind was more puzzled than ever. Those who maintained that Dudleigh was +an impostor felt their confidence greatly shaken, and could only murmur +something about its being done “for effect,” and “to throw dust into the +eyes of people;” while those who believed in him asserted their belief +more strongly than ever, and declared that the unhappy differences which +had existed between husband and wife had passed away, and terminated in +a perfect reconciliation. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + +A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE. + +Thus Dudleigh and Edith found a new life opening before them; and though +this life was felt by both to be a temporary one, which must soon come +to an end, yet each seemed resolved upon enjoying it to the utmost while +it lasted. + +On one of these rides a remarkable event +occurred. + +It chanced that Edith's horse dropped a shoe, and they went slowly to +the nearest village to have him reshod. They came to one before long, +and riding slowly through it, they reached the farthest end of it, and +here they found a smithy. + +A small river ran at this end of the village across the road, and over +this there was a narrow bridge. The smithy was built close beside the +bridge on piles half over the edge of the stream. It faced the road, +and, standing in the open doorway, one could see up the entire length of +the village. + +Here they dismounted, and found the farrier. Unfortunately the shoe had +been lost and the farrier had none, so that he had to make one for the +occasion. This took much time, and Edith and Dudleigh strolled up and +down the village, stood on the bridge and wandered about, frequently +returning to the smithy to see how the work was progressing. + +The last time they came they found that the smith was nearly through his +work. They stood watching him as he was driving in one of the last +nails, feeling a kind of indolent curiosity in the work, when suddenly +there arose in the road behind them a frightful outburst of shrieks and +cries. The smith dropped the horse's foot and the hammer, and started +up. Dudleigh and Edith also turned by a quick movement to see what it +might be. + +A terrible sight burst upon them. + +As they looked up the village street, they saw coming straight toward +them a huge dog, which was being pursued by a large crowd of men. The +animal's head was bent low, his jaw dropped, and almost before they +fairly understood the meaning of what they saw, he had come close enough +for them to distinguish the foam that dropped from his jaws, and his +wild, staring, blood-shot eyes. In that moment they understood it. In +that animal, which thus rushed straight toward them, and was already so +near, they saw one of the most terrible sights that can appear to the +eye of man--a mad dog! + +The smith gave a yell of horror, and sprang to a window that looked out +of the rear of the smithy into the stream. Through this he flung +himself, and disappeared. + +On came the dog, his eyes glaring, his mouth foaming, distancing all his +pursuers, none of whom were near enough to deal a blow. They did not +seem particularly anxious to get nearer to him, to tell the truth, but +contented themselves with hurling stones at him, and shrieking and +yelling from a safe distance in his rear. + +On came the dog. There was no time for escape. Quick as thought Dudleigh +flung himself before Edith. There was no time to seize any weapon. He +had to face the dog unarmed, in his own unassisted strength. As for +Edith, she stood paralyzed with utter horror. + +On came the mad dog, and with a horrible snapping howl, sprang straight +at Dudleigh. + +But Dudleigh was prepared. As the dog sprang he hit straight out at him +“from the shoulder,” and dealt him a tremendous blow on the throat with +his clinched fist. The blow hurled the animal over and over till he fell +upon his back, and before he could regain his feet, Dudleigh sprang upon +him and seized him by the throat. + +He was a large and powerful animal. He struggled fiercely in the grasp +of Dudleigh, and the struggle was a terrific one. The villagers, who had +now come up, stood off, staring in unspeakable horror, not one of them +daring to interfere. + +But the terror which had at first frozen Edith into stone now gave way +to another feeling, a terror quite as strong, but which, instead of +congealing her into inaction, roused her to frenzied exertion. +Dudleigh's life was at stake! Terror for herself was paralysis to her +limbs; terror for him was the madness of desperate exertion and daring. + +She sprang toward one of the by-standers, who had a knife in his hand. +This knife she snatched from him, and rushed toward Dudleigh. The dog +was still writhing in his furious straggles. Dudleigh was still holding +him down, and clutching at his throat with, death-like tenacity. For a +moment she paused, and then flinging herself upon her knees at the dog's +head, she plunged the knife with all her strength into the side of his +neck. + +It was a mortal wound! + +With a last howl, the huge animal relaxed his efforts, and in a few +moments lay dead in the road. + +Dudleigh rose to his feet. There was in his face an expression of pain +and apprehension. The villagers stood aloof, staring at him with awful +eyes. No word of congratulation was spoken. The silence was ominous; +it was terrible. Edith was struck most of all by the expression of +Dudleigh's face, and read there what she dared not think of. For a +moment the old horror which had first seized upon her came upon her once +more, paralyzing her limbs. She looked at him with staring eyes as she +knelt, and the bloody knife dropped from her nerveless hands. But the +horror passed, and once more, as before, was succeeded by vehement +action. She sprang to her feet, and caught at his coat as he walked +away. + +He turned, with downcast eyes. + +“O my God!” she exclaimed, in anguish, “you are wounded--you are +bitten--and by that--” She could not finish her sentence. + +Dudleigh gave her an awful look. + +“You will die! you will die!” she almost screamed. “Oh, cannot +something be done? Let me look at your arm. Oh, let me examine it--let +me see where it is! Show me--tell me what I can do.” + +Dudleigh had turned to enter the smithy as Edith had arrested him, and +now, standing there in the doorway, he gently disengaged himself from +her grasp. Then he took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve. + +Edith had already noticed that his coat sleeve was torn, and now, as he +took off his coat, she saw, with unutterable horror, his white shirt +sleeves red with spots of blood. As he rolled up that sleeve she saw +the marks of bruises on his arm; but it was on one place in particular +that her eyes were fastened--a place where a red wound, freshly made, +showed the source of the blood stains, and told at what a terrible price +he had rescued her from the fierce beast. He had conquered, but not +easily, for he had carried off this wound, and the wound was, as he +knew, and as she knew, the bite of a mad dog! + +Edith gave a low moan of anguish and despair. She took his arm in her +hands. Dudleigh did not withdraw it. Even at that moment of horror it +seemed sweet to him to see these signs of feeling on her part; and +though he did not know what it was that she had in her mind, he waited, +to feel for a moment longer the clasp of those hands. + +Edith held his arm in her hands, and the terrible wound fascinated her +eyes with horror. It seemed to her at that moment that this was the doom +of Dudleigh, the stamp of his sure and certain death. It seemed to her +that this mark was the announcement to her that henceforth Dudleigh was +lost to her; that he must die--die by a death so horrible that its +horrors surpassed language and even imagination, and that this +unutterable doom had been drawn down upon him for her. + +It had been terrible. Out of pleasant thoughts and genial conversation +and genie smiles and happy interchange of sentiment, out of the joy of a +glad day, out of the delight of golden hours and sunlight and beauty and +peace--to be plunged suddenly into a woe like this! + +There came to her a wild and desperate thought. Only one idea was in her +mind--to save Dudleigh, to snatch this dear friend from the death to +which he had flung himself for her sake. Inspired by this sole idea, +there had come a sudden thought. It was the thought of that royal wife's +devotion who, when her young husband lay dying from the poisoned dagger +of an assassin, drew the poison from the wound, and thus snatched him +from the very grasp of death. This it was, then, that was in the mind +of Edith, and it was in her agonized heart at that moment to save +Dudleigh even as Eleanor had saved Edward. + +She bent down her head, till her face was close to his arm. + +Dudleigh looked on as in a dream. He did not know, he could not even +conceive, what she had in her heart to do for his sake. It would have +seemed incredible, had he not seen it; nor could he have imagined it, +had he not been convinced. + +The discovery flashed suddenly, vividly across his mind. He recognized +in that one instant the love, the devotion, stronger than death, which +was thus manifesting itself in that slight movement of that adored one +by his side. It was a thought of sweetness unutterable, which amidst his +agony sent a thrill of rapture through every nerve. + +It was but for a moment. + +He gently withdrew his arm. She looked at him reproachfully and +imploringly. He turned away his face firmly. + +“Will you leave me for a moment, Miss Dalton?” said he, in a choking +voice. + +He pointed to the doorway. + +She did not appear to understand him. She stood, with her face white as +ashes, and looked at him with the same expression. + +“Leave me--oh, leave me,” he said, “for one moment! It is not fit for +you.” + +She did not move. + +[Illustration: “THERE WAS THE HISS OF SOMETHING SCORCHING.”] + +Dudleigh could wait no longer. His soul was roused up to a desperate +purpose, but the execution of that purpose could not be delayed. He +sprang to the fire. One of the irons had been imbedded there in the +glowing coals. He had seen this in his despair, and had started toward +it, when Edith detained him. This iron he snatched out. It was at a +white heat, dazzling in its glow. + +In an instant he plunged this at the wound. A low cry like a muffled +groan was wrung from the spectators, who watched the act with eyes of +utter horror. + +There was the hiss of something scorching; a sickening smoke arose and +curled up about his head, and ascended to the roof. But in the midst of +this Dudleigh stood as rigid as Mucius Scaevola under another fiery +trial, with the hand that held the glowing iron and the arm that felt +the awful torment as steady as though he had been a statue fashioned in +that attitude. Thus he finished his work. + +It was all over in a few seconds. Then Dudleigh turned, with his face +ghastly white, and big drops of perspiration, wrung out by that agony, +standing over his brow. He flung down the iron. + +At the same moment Edith, yielding altogether to the horror that had +hitherto overwhelmed her, fell senseless to the floor. + +By this time some among the crowd had regained the use of their +faculties, and these advanced to offer their services. Dudleigh was able +to direct them to take Edith to some shelter, and while they did so he +followed. Edith after some time revived. A doctor was sent for, who +examined Dudleigh's arm, and praised him for his prompt action, while +wondering at his daring. He bound it up, and gave some general +directions. + +Meanwhile a messenger had been sent to Dalton Hall for the carriage. +Edith, though she had revived, hardly felt strong enough for horseback, +and Dudleigh's arm was sufficiently painful to make him prefer as great +a degree of quiet as possible. When the carriage came, therefore, it was +with feelings of great relief that they took their seats and prepared to +go back. Nor was their journey any the less pleasant from the fact that +they had to sit close together, side by side--a closer union than any +they had thus far known. It was an eventful day; nor was its conclusion +the least so. But little was said during the drive home. Each felt what +bad been done by the other. Edith remembered how Dudleigh had risked the +most terrible, the most agonizing of deaths to save her. Dudleigh, on +his part, remembered that movement of hers, by which she was about to +take the poison from his wound unto herself. The appalling event which +had occurred had broken down all reserve. All was known. Each knew that +the other was dearer than all the world. Each knew that the other loved +and was loved; but yet in the midst of this knowledge there was a +feeling of utter helplessness arising from the unparalleled position of +Edith. It was a peculiar and at the same time a perilous one. + +In the eyes of the world these two were nothing less than man and wife. +In the eyes of the law, as Edith feared, she was the wife of Leon +Dudleigh. + +Now this man was not Leon Dudleigh. He was an impostor. Edith did not +even know that his name was Dudleigh at all. She had never asked him +the secret of his life; he had never volunteered to tell it. She did +not know what his name really was. + +As an impostor, she knew that he was liable to discovery, arrest, and +punishment at any time. She knew that the discovery of this man would +endanger herself. His arrest would involve hers, and she would once more +be tried for her life, as the murderer of the missing man, with the +additional disadvantage of having already eluded justice by a trick. She +was liable at any moment to this, for the missing man was still missing, +and it would go doubly hard for her, since she had aided and abetted for +so long a time the conspiracy of an impostor. + +Yet this impostor was beyond all doubt a man of the loftiest character, +most perfect breeding, and profoundest self-devotion. From the very +first his face had revealed to her that he had entered upon this +conspiracy for her sake. And since then, for her sake, what had he not +done? + +Thus, then, they were both in a position of peril. They loved one +another passionately. But they could not possess one another. The +world supposed them man and wife, but the law made her the wife of +another, of whom it also charged her with being the murderer. Around +these two there were clouds of darkness, deep and dense, and their +future was utterly obscure. + +These things were in the minds of both of them through that drive, and +that evening as they walked about the grounds. For since their mutual +love had all been revealed, Dudleigh had spoken in words what he had +repressed so long, and Edith had confessed what had already been +extorted from her. Yet this mutual confession of love with all its +attendant endearments, had not blinded them to the dangers of their +position and the difficulties that lay in their way. + +“I can not endure this state of things,” said Dudleigh. “For your sake, +as well as my own, Edith darling, it must be brought to an end. I have +not been idle, but I have waited to hear from those who have put +themselves on the track of the man from whom we have most to dread. One +has tried to find some trace of Leon; the other is my mother. Now I have +not heard from either of them, and I am beginning to feel not only +impatient, but uneasy.” + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + +IMPORTANT NEWS. + +The position of Edith and Dudleigh was of such a character that farther +inaction was felt to be intolerable, and it was only the hope of hearing +from those who were already engaged in the work that made him capable of +delaying longer. But several events now occurred which put an end to the +present state of things. + +The first of these was a marked improvement in the condition of Mr. +Dalton. A successful operation performed upon him had the result of +restoring him to consciousness, and after this a general increase of +strength took place. His intense joy at the sight of Edith, and the +delight which he felt at her presence and the reception of her loving +and tender care, all acted favorably upon him; and as the sorrow which +he had experienced had been the chief cause of his prostration, so the +happiness which he now felt became a powerful agent toward restoring him +to strength. + +The joy of Edith was so great that the terror and perplexity of her +position ceased to alarm her. Her greatest grief seemed now removed, for +she had feared that her father might die without ever knowing how deeply +she repented for the past and how truly she loved him. Now, however, he +would live to receive from her those tender cares which, while they +could never in her mind atone for the wrongs that she had inflicted upon +him, would yet be the means of giving some happiness to him who had +suffered go much. + +A few days after her father's restoration to consciousness Dudleigh +received a letter of a most important character, and as soon as he was +able to see Edith during the walks that they still took in the afternoon +or evening, he informed her with unusual emotion of the fact. + +“She writes,” he concluded, “that she has got at last on the track of +Leon.” + +“Who? Your mother?” + +“No. I have not heard from my mother. I mean Miss Fortescue.” + +“Miss Fortescue?” repeated Edith, in some surprise. + +“Yes,” said Dudleigh. “I did not mention her before, because I did not +know what you might think about it. But the fact is, I saw her after the +trial was over. She had come to give important testimony. She came to +see me, and told me all about it. The information was of the most +extraordinary kind. It appears that in the course of her own inquiries +she had heard some gossip about a long box which had been put off at +Finsbury from the train. This was called for by a teamster, who was +accompanied by a Newfoundland dog, who took the box, and drove away from +Finsbury to Dalton. Now, as no such teamster, or box, or dog, had been +seen in Dalton, she began to suspect that it had something to do with +the remains found in the well, and that this whole matter was a +malignant scheme of Leon's to involve you or your father, or both, in +some calamity. At any rate, she herself went cautiously about, and +tried to investigate for herself. She had all along felt convinced that +Leon was alive, and she felt equally convinced that he was capable of +any malignant act for the purpose of wreaking his vengeance on you or +your father. He had been baffled here, and had sworn vengeance. That +much your father told me before the trial. + +“So Miss Fortescue searched very carefully, and at length made a very +important discovery. A few miles this side of Finsbury there is a +grove, through which the Dalton Park wall runs. Here she happened to see +the trace of heavy wheels, and the hedge which adjoins the wall, and is +rather thin there, seemed to have been broken through, so as to form an +opening wide enough to admit a cart. Struck by this, she followed the +marks of the wheels into the grove for some distance, until they +stopped. Here, to her surprised, she saw close by the Dalton Park wall +an oblong box, just like the one which had been described to her. It was +empty, and had been left here. + +“Now why had it been left here? Miss Fortescue felt certain that Leon +had brought a dead body in that box, that he had taken it stealthily +into the park, and thrown it down into the well, and then, not wishing +to be seen with such a very conspicuous thing as this box, he had left +it behind him. She also thought that he had managed in a secret way to +start the rumors that had prevailed, and to drop some hints, either by +anonymous letters to the sheriff or otherwise, which turned their +attention to the well. She saw at once how important this testimony +would be in your favor, and therefore saw the Finsbury people who had +told her of the teamster, and with these she came to the trial. But when +she came she heard that the missing man had returned--and saw me, you +know.” + +At this extraordinary information Edith was silent for some time. + +“I have often tried to account for it,” said she, “but I could hardly +bring myself to believe that this was his work. But now when I recalled +his last words to me, I can understand it, and I am forced to believe +it.” + +“His last words to you?” said Dudleigh, in an inquiring tone. + +“Yes,” said Edith, with a sigh. “The remembrance of that night is so +distressing that I have never felt able to speak of it. Even the +thought of what I suffered then almost drives me wild; but now--and to +_you_, Reginald--it is different, and I have strength to speak of +it.” + +As she said this she looked at him tenderly, and Reginald folded her in +his arms. She then began to give an account of that eventful night, of +her long preparations, her suspense, her departure, until that moment +when she saw that she was pursued. The remainder only need be given +here. + +She had been right in her conjectures. Leon had suspected, or at least +had watched, and discovered all. The moonlight had revealed her plainly +as she stole across the open area, and when she fled into the woods the +rustling and crackling had betrayed the direction which she had taken. +Thus it was that Leon had been able to pursue her, and his first +sneering words as he came up to her made her acquainted with her +awkwardness. The trees were not so close but that her figure could be +seen; the moonlight streamed down, and disclosed her standing at bay, +desperate, defiant, with her dagger uplifted, and her arm nerved to +strike. This Leon saw, and being afraid to venture close to her, he held +aloof, and tried to conceal his cowardice in taunts and sneers. + +Edith said nothing for some time, but at last, seeing that Leon +hesitated, she determined to continue her flight in spite of him, and +informed him so. + +Upon this he threatened to set the dog on her. + +“He will tear you to pieces,” cried Leon. “No one will suspect that I +had any thing to do with it. Every body will believe that in trying to +run away you were caught by the dog.” + +This threat, however, did not in the least alarm Edith. She was not +afraid of the dog. She had already gained the animal's affections by +various little acts of kindness. So now, in response to Leon's threats, +she held out her hand toward the dog and called him. The dog wagged his +tail and made a few steps forward. At this Leon grew infuriated, and +tried to set him at Edith. But the dog would not obey. Leon then held +him, pointed his head toward Edith, and doing all in his power to urge +him on. The effort, however, was completely useless. Edith, seeing +this, hurried away. Leon rushed after her, followed by the dog, and once +more she stood at bay, while the same efforts were repeated to set the +dog at her. This was done several times over. At last Leon gave the dog +a terrible beating. Wild with indignant rage at his cowardice, +brutality, and persistent pursuit, full also of pity for the poor animal +who was suffering for love of her, Edith sprang forward at Leon as +though she would stab him. Whether she would have done so or not, need +not be said; at any rate her purpose was gained, for Leon, with a cry of +fear, started back. + +Then standing at a safe distance, he hurled at her the most terrible +threats of vengeance. Among all these she remembered well one +expression, which he repeated over and over. + +“You've threatened my life!” he cried. + +“My life shall lie at your door, if I have to kill myself.” + +This he said over and over. But Edith did not wait much longer. Once +more she started off, and this time Leon did not follow her. That was +the last she saw or heard of him. After this she wandered about through +woods and swamps for a long time, and at length, about the dawn of day, +when she had almost lost all hope, she came to the wall. This she +clambered over by means of her rope and hook, and reached the Dalton Inn +in the condition already described. + +Afterward, when she heard that Leon was missing, and when she was +confronted with the remains, the whole horror of her situation burst +upon her mind. Her first thought was that he had in his desperate rage +actually killed himself; but the absence of the head showed that this +was impossible. There remained after this a deep mystery, the solution +of which she could not discover, but in the midst of which she could not +fail to see how terribly circumstances bore against her. She was afraid +to say any thing. She knew that if she told all she would be believed +but in part. If she confessed that she had seen him, and had quarreled +with him on that night, then all men would conclude that she had also +murdered him so as to escape. She saw also how hopeless it was to look +for any testimony in her favor. Every thing was against her. Being in +ignorance of her father and Lady Dudleigh, she had supposed that they +would be most relentless of all in doing her to death; and the +excitement of the latter over the loss of Leon was never suspected by +her to be the frenzied grief of a mother's heart over a sudden and most +agonizing bereavement. + +But now all these things were plain. Another shared her secret--one, +too, who would lay down his life for her--and the efforts of Miss +Fortescue had resulted in suggesting to her mind a new solution of the +mystery. + +After the natural comments which were elicited by Edith's strange story, +Reginald showed her the letter which he had received from Miss +Fortescue. It was not very long, nor was it very definite. It merely +informed him that she had reason to believe that she had at last got +upon the track of Leon; and requested him to come to her at once, as +there was danger of losing this opportunity if there was any delay. She +appointed a place at which she would meet him three days from the date +of the letter, where she would wait several days to allow for all delay +in his reception of the letter. The place which she mentioned was known +to Reginald as the nearest station on the railway to Dudleigh Manor. + +“This must decide all,” said Reginald. “They are playing a desperate +game, and the part which must be done by my mother and myself is a +terrible one. If we fail in this, we may have to fly at once. But if I +can only see Leon once, so as to drag him before the world, and show +that he is alive--if I can only save you, darling, from your terrible +position, then I can bear other evils in patience for a time longer.” + +“You have heard nothing from your mother, then?” said Edith. + +“No,” said he, with a sigh. “And I feel anxious--terribly anxious. I was +very unwilling for her to go, and warned her against it; but she was +determined, and her reasons for doing so were unanswerable; still I feel +terribly alarmed, for Sir Lionel is a man who would stop at nothing to +get rid of one whom he thinks is the only witness against him.” + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: “THEY WERE STARTLED BY THE APPROACH OF SEVERAL MEN.”] + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + + +THE STORY OF FREDERICK DALTON. + +After Dudleigh's departure Edith was left more exclusively with her +father, and had the satisfaction of seeing that under her tender care he +grew stronger and more happy every day. In the long confidences between +these two, who had once been so separated, all was gradually explained, +and Edith learned not only the whole truth about that calamity which had +befallen him in early life, but also the reason of that once +inexplicable policy which he had chosen with regard to herself. + +Lionel Dudleigh and he had been friends from boyhood, though the weak +and lavish character of the former had gradually put them upon divergent +lines of life, which even Lionel's marriage with his sister, Claudine +Dalton, could not bring together again. For Lionel had fallen into evil +courses, and had taken to the common road of ruin--the turf; and though +it had been hoped that his marriage would work a reformation, yet those +hopes had all proved unfounded. Years passed. Two children were born to +Lionel Dudleigh--Reginald and Leon; yet not even the considerations of +their future welfare, which usually have weight with the most corrupt, +were sufficiency powerful to draw back the transgressor from his bad +career. + +He became terribly involved in debt. Twice already his debts had been +paid, but this third time his father would assist him no longer. His +elder brother, then heir to the estate, was equally inexorable; and +Frederick Dalton was the one who came forward to save his sister's +husband and his old friend from destruction. + +On this occasion, however, Lionel was not frank with Dalton. Perhaps he +was afraid to tell him the whole amount of his debts, for fear that +Dalton would refuse to do any thing. At any rate, whatever the cause +was, after Dalton had, as he supposed, settled every thing, Lionel was +pressed as hard as ever by a crowd of creditors, whom this partial +settlement had only rendered the more ravenous. + +Pressed hard by one of these, the wretched man had forged a check on the +Liverpool banker, Mr. Henderson, and this check he had inclosed in a +letter to Frederick Dalton, requesting him to get the money and pay one +or two debts which he specified. This Dalton did at once, without +hesitation or suspicion of any sort. + +Then came the discovery, swift and sudden, that it was a forgery. But +one feeling arose in Dalton's mind, and that was a desire to save +Lionel. He hurried off at once to see him. The wretched man confessed +all. Dalton at once went to Liverpool, where he saw Mr. Henderson, and +tried to save his friend. He came away from the interview, however only +to make known to Lionel the banker's obstinacy and resolution to have +vengeance. + +Dalton's solicitor in Liverpool was Mr. John Wiggins. Lionel's presence +in Liverpool was not known to any one but Dalton. He had seen Wiggins +once, and persuaded Lionel to see him also, to which the latter +consented only with extreme difficulty. The interview never took place, +however, nor was Wiggins aware of Lionel's presence in Liverpool, or of +his guilt. Then the murder took place, and the paper was found which +criminated Dalton, who was at once arrested. + +Dalton was thunder-struck, not so much at his own arrest as at the +desperation of his friend and his utter baseness. He knew perfectly well +who the murderer was. The Maltese cross which had been found was not +necessary to show him this. No other man could have had any motive, and +no other man could have thought of mentioning his name in connection +with the terrible deed. It was thus that Dalton found himself betrayed +in the foulest manner, through no other cause than his own generosity. + +The horror of Mrs. Dudleigh on hearing of her brother's arrest was +excessive. She went off at once to see him. Even to her Dalton said +nothing about Lionel's guilt, for he wished to spare her the cruel blow +which such intelligence would give. + +The feeling that now animated Dalton can easily be explained. In the +first place, knowing that he was innocent, he had not the faintest doubt +that he would be acquitted. He believed that where there was no guilt, +no such thing as guilt could be proved. He relied also on his +well-known reputation. + +Feeling thus confident of his own innocence, and certain of acquittal, +he had only to ask himself what he ought to do with reference to Lionel. +Strict justice demanded that he should tell all that he knew; but there +were other considerations besides strict justice. There was the future +of Lionel himself, whom he wished to spare in spite of his baseness. +More than this, there was his sister and his sister's children. He could +not bring himself to inform against the guilty husband and father, and +thus crush their innocent heads under an overwhelming load of shame. He +never imagined that he himself, and his innocent wife and his innocent +child, would have to bear all that which he shrank from imposing upon +the wife and children of Lionel. + +The trial went on, and then came forth revelations which showed all to +Mrs. Dudleigh. That Maltese cross was enough. It was the key to the +whole truth. She saw her brother, and asked him. He was silent. Frantic +with grief, she hurried back to her husband. To her fierce reproaches he +answered not a word. She now proceeded to Liverpool. Her brother +entreated her to be calm and silent. He assured her that there was no +possible danger to himself, and implored her, for the sake of her +children, to say nothing. She allowed herself to be convinced by him, +and to yield to entreaties uttered by the very accused himself, and in +the name of her children. She believed in his innocence, and could not +help sharing his confidence in an acquittal. + +That acquittal did come--by a narrow chance, yet it did come; but at +once, to the consternation of both brother and sister, the new trial +followed. Here Dalton tried to keep up his confidence as before. His +counsel implored him to help them in making his defense by telling them +what he knew, but Dalton remained fatally obstinate. Proudly confiding +in his innocence, and trusting to his blameless life, he still hesitated +to do what he considered an act of merciless cruelty to his sister, and +he still persuaded her also to silence, and still prophesied his own +acquittal, and the rescue of her husband and children from ruin. Part +of his prophecy was fulfilled. The husband and children of the sister +were indeed saved, but it was at the expense of the innocent and devoted +brother. + +The effect was terrible. Dalton heard of his wife's illness. He had +written to her before, full of confidence, and trying to cheer her; but +from the first Mrs. Dalton had looked for the worst; not that she +supposed her husband could possibly be otherwise than innocent, but +simply because she was timid and afraid of the law. She had good reason +to fear. Word was brought to Dalton that she was dying, and then the +news came that she was dead. + +Meanwhile Mrs. Dudleigh, more frenzied than ever, flew to see her +husband. She found that he had gone to the Continent. She pursued him, +and reached him in Italy. Here she called upon him to confess his +guilt, and save his innocent friend. He refused. He dared not. She +threatened to denounce him. He fell at her feet and implored her mercy +in the name of their children. He entreated her to wait, to try other +means first, to get a new trial--any thing. + +Mrs. Dudleigh's threats to inform against him were easy to make, yet not +so easy to carry out. Turning from her husband in horror, she returned +to England with the fixed intention of telling every thing. His letter +to Dalton could have been shown, and the Maltese cross could have proved +who the murderer was. But Mrs. Dudleigh's courage faltered when she +reached her home and saw her children. Already she had heard of Mrs. +Dalton's death; already she knew well that Edith Dalton was doomed to +inherit a name of shame, a legacy of dishonor, and that she alone could +now avert this. But to avert this she must doom her own children. Had +it been herself only and her guilty husband, it would have been easy to +be just; but here were her children standing in the way and keeping her +back. + +Her struggles were agonizing. Time passed on; the delay was fatal. +Time passed, and the distracted mother could not make up her mind to +deal out ruin and shame to her children. Time passed, and Dalton was +taken away to that far-distant country to which he had been +sentenced--transported for life. + +Other changes also took place. Lionel's father and elder brother both +died within a short time of one another, leaving him heir to the estate +and the baronetcy. He was now Sir Lionel Dudleigh, and she was Lady +Dudleigh; and her brother--the pure in heart, the noble, the +devoted--what and where was he? + +The struggle was terrible, and she could not decide it. It seemed +abhorrent for her to rise up and denounce her husband, even to save her +brother. She could not do it, but she did what she could. She wrote +her husband a letter, bidding him farewell, and imploring him to +confess; took her son Reginald, the eldest, leaving behind the younger, +Leon, and prepared to go to her brother, hoping that if she could not +save him, she might at least alleviate his sorrows. She took with her +Hugo, a faithful old servant of the Dalton family, and with him and +Reginald went to Australia. + +Meanwhile Dalton had been in the country for a year. Before leaving he +had not been unmindful of others even in that dire extremity. He had +only one thought, and that was his child. He had learned that Miss +Plympton had taken her, and he wrote to her, urging her never to tell +Edith her father's story, and never to let the world know that she was +his daughter. He appointed Wiggins agent for his estates and guardian +of Edith before he left; and having thus secured her interests for the +present, he went to meet his fate. + +In Sydney he was treated very differently from the common convicts. +Criminals of all classes were sent out there, and to the better sort +large privileges were allowed. Dalton was felt by all to be a man of +the latter kind. His dignified bearing, his polish and refinement, +together with the well-known fact that he had so resolutely maintained +his innocence, all excited sympathy and respect. + +When Lady Dudleigh arrived there with Hugo and her son, she soon found +out this, and this fact enabled her to carry into execution a plan which +she had cherished all along during the voyage. She obtained a sheep +farm about a hundred miles away, applied to the authorities, and was +able to hire Dalton as a servant. Taking him in this capacity, she went +with him to the sheep farm, where Hugo and Reginald also accompanied +them. One more was afterward added. This was the man “Wilkins,” who +had been sentenced to transportation for poaching, and had come out in +the same ship with Dalton. Lady Dudleigh obtained this man also, under +Dalton's advice, and he ultimately proved of great assistance to them. + +Here in this place years passed away. Dalton's only thought was of his +daughter. The short formal notes which were signed “John Wiggins,” all +came from him. He could not trust himself to do any more. The sweet +childish letters which she wrote once or twice he kept next his heart, +and cherished as more precious than any earthly possession, but dared +not answer for fear lest he might break that profound secret which he +wished to be maintained between her and himself--her, the pure young +girl, himself, the dishonored outcast. So the years passed, and he +watched her from afar in his thoughts, and every year he thought of her +age, and tried to imagine what she looked like. + +During these years there was rising among them another spirit--a +character--whose force was destined to change the fortune of all. + +This was Reginald. + +From the first he had known the whole story--more than Leon had known. +Leon had known his father's guilt and Dalton's innocence, but Reginald +had been the confidant of his mother, the witness of her grief and her +despair. He had lived with Dalton, and year after year had been the +witness of a spectacle which never ceased to excite the deepest emotion, +that of an innocent man, a just man, suffering wrongfully on behalf of +another. His own father he had learned to regard with horror, while all +the enthusiastic love of his warm young heart had fixed itself upon the +man who had done all this for another. He knew for whom Dalton had +suffered. It was for his mother, and for himself, and he knew that he +was every day living on the sufferings and the woe of this +broken-hearted friend. Gradually other motives arose. He was a witness +of Dalton's profound and all-absorbing love for his daughter, and his +passionate desire to save her from all knowledge of his own shame. To +Reginald all this grew more and more intolerable. He now saw the worst +result of all, and he felt that while his own father had thrown upon his +friend his load of infamy, so he himself, the son, was throwing upon +Edith Dalton all that inherited infamy. + +At last his resolution was taken. He informed his mother. She had been +aware of his struggles of soul for years, and did not oppose him. +Indeed, she felt some relief. It was for the son's sake that she had +faltered when justice demanded her action. Now that son had grown to be +a calm, strong, resolute man, and he had decided. + +Yes, the decision was a final one. Not one objection was disregarded. +Every thing was considered, and the resolution was, at all hazards, and +at every cost, to do right. That resolution involved the accusation, the +trial, the condemnation, the infamy--yes, the death--of a husband and a +father; but even at that cost it was the resolve of Reginald that this +thing should be. + +The plan of escape occupied far less time. Dalton objected at first to +the whole thing, but Reginald had only to mention to him his daughter's +name to induce him to concur. + +After this it was given out that Frederick Dalton had died. This +statement was received by the authorities without suspicion or +examination, though the conspirators were prepared for both. + +Then Frederick Dalton, under an assumed name, accompanied by Hugo, went +to Sydney, where he embarked for England. No one recognized him. He +had changed utterly. Grief, despair, and time had wrought this. +Reginald and his mother went by another ship, a little later, and had no +difficulty in taking Wilkins with them. They all reached England in +safety, and met at a place agreed upon beforehand, where their future +action was arranged. + +On the voyage home Dalton had decided upon that policy which he +afterward sought to carry out. It was, first of all, to live in the +utmost seclusion, and conceal himself as far as possible from every eye. +A personal encounter with some old acquaintance, who failed to recognize +him, convinced him that the danger of his secret being discovered was +very small. His faithful solicitor, John Wiggins, of Liverpool, would +not believe that the gray-haired and venerable man who came to him was +the man whom he professed to be, until Dalton and Reginald had proved it +by showing the letters, and by other things. By John Wiggins's +suggestion Dalton assumed the name of Wiggins, and gave himself out to +be a brother of the Liverpool solicitor. No one suspected, and no +questions were asked, and so Dalton went to Dalton Hall under the name +of Wiggins, while Lady Dudleigh went as Mrs. Dunbar, to be housekeeper; +and their domestics were only Hugo and Wilkins, whose fidelity was known +to be incorruptible, and who were, of course, intimately acquainted with +the secret of their master. + +Here Dalton took up his abode, while John Wiggins, of Liverpool, began +to set in motion the train of events which should end in the +accomplishment of justice. First, it was necessary to procure from the +authorities all the documentary and other evidence which had been +acquired ten years before. Several things were essential, and above all +the Maltese cross. But English law is slow, and these things required +time. + +It was the intention of Dalton to have every thing in readiness first, +and then send Reginald and Lady Dudleigh to Sir Lionel to try the force +of a personal appeal. If by threats or any other means they could +persuade him to confess, he was to be allowed time to fly to some safe +place, or take any other course which he deemed most consistent with his +safety. Dalton himself was not to appear, but to preserve his secret +inviolable. If Sir Lionel should prove impracticable, then the charge +and arrest should take place at once; whether for forgery or murder was +not decided. That should be left to Reginald's own choice. They leaned +to mercy, however, and preferred the charge of forgery. Sir Lionel was +mistaken in supposing Lady Dudleigh to be the only witness against him, +for Reginald had been present at more than one interview between the +frenzied wife and the guilty husband, and had heard his father confess +the whole. + +But the regular progress of affairs had been altogether interrupted by +the sudden appearance of Edith. On reaching Dalton Hall Mr. Dalton had +felt an uncontrollable eagerness to see her, and had written to Miss +Plympton the letter already reported. He did not expect that she would +come so soon. He thought that she would wait for a time; that he would +get an answer, and arrange every thing for her reception. As it was, +she came at once, without any announcement, accompanied by Miss Plympton +and her maid. + +For years Dalton had been kept alive by the force of one feeling +alone--his love for his daughter. Out of the very intensity of his love +for her arose also another feeling, equally intense, and that was the +desire to clear his name from all stain before meeting with her. At +first he had intended to refrain from seeing her, but, being in England, +and so near, his desire for her was uncontrollable. Reginald had gone +for a tour on the Continent. The Hall was lonely; every room brought +back the memory of his lost wife, and of that little Edith who, years +before, used to wander about these halls and amidst these scenes with +him. He could not endure this enforced separation, and so he wrote as +he did. He expected he scarcely new what. He had a vague idea that +though he refused to make himself known, that she nevertheless might +divine it, or else, out of some mysterious filial instinct, might love +him under his assumed name as fervently as though there was no +concealment. + +When she came so suddenly, he was taken by surprise. He longed to see +her, but was afraid to admit her companions; and so it was that his +daughter, in whom his life was now bound up, was almost turned away from +her father's gates. + +Then followed her life at Dalton Hall. Dalton, afraid of the outside +world, afraid to be discovered, after having done so much for safety, at +the very time when deliverance seemed near, looked with terror upon +Edith's impatience. He risked an interview. He came full of a father's +holiest love, yet full of the purpose of his life to redeem the Dalton +name for her sake. He met with scorn and hate. From those interviews +he retired with his heart wrung by an anguish greater than any that he +had ever known before. + +And so it went on. It was for her own sake that he restrained her; yet +he could not tell her, for he had set his heart on not revealing himself +till he could do so with an unstained name. But he had made a mistake +at the very outset from his impatient desire to see her, and he was +doomed to see the results of that mistake. Miss Plympton was turned +away, and forthwith appealed to Sir Lionel. The result of this was that +Leon came. Leon recognized Wilkins, and could not be kept out. He did +not know Dalton, but knew that he was not the man whom he professed to +be, and his suspicions were aroused. On seeing Dalton he assumed a high +tone toward him, which he maintained till the last. Lady Dudleigh's +emotion at the sight of Leon was a sore embarrassment, and all Dalton's +plans seemed about to fall into confusion. The visits of the disguised +Miss Fortescue were a puzzle; and as both Dalton and Lady Dudleigh +looked upon this new visitor as an emissary of Leon's, they viewed these +visits as they did those of Leon. For the first time Lady Dudleigh and +Dalton were of opposite views. Dalton dreaded these visits, but his +sister favored them. Her mother's heart yearned over Leon; and even if +he did seek Edith's affections, it did not seem an undesirable thing. +That, however, was a thing from which Dalton recoiled in horror. + +At that time Reginald's strong will and clear intellect were sorely +needed, but he was away on his Continental tour, and knew nothing of all +these occurrences till it was too late. + +Thus nothing was left to Dalton but idle warnings, which Edith treated +as we have seen. True, there was one other resource, and that was to +tell her all; but this he hesitated to do. For years he had hoped to +redeem himself. He had looked forward to the day when his name should +be freed from stain, and he still looked forward to that day when he +might be able to say, “Here, my beloved daughter, my name is free from +stain; you can acknowledge me without shame.” + +But Edith's opposition, and the plans of Leon, and the absorption of +Lady Dudleigh's sympathies in the interests of her son, all destroyed +Dalton's chances. He could only watch, and hear from his faithful Hugo +accounts of what was going on. Thus he was led into worse and worse +acts, and by misunderstanding Edith at the outset, opened the way for +both himself and her to many sorrows. + +After the terrible events connected with the mysterious departure of +Leon and the arrest of Edith, Dalton had at once written to Reginald. +He had been ill in the interior of Sicily--for his testimony at the +trial had been in part correct. Dalton's letter was delayed in reaching +him, but he hurried back as soon as possible. Relying on his +extraordinary resemblance to Leon, Dalton had urged him to personify the +missing man, and this he had consented to do, with the success which has +been described. His chief motive in doing this was his profound +sympathy for Dalton, and for Edith also, whom he believed to have been +subjected to unfair treatment. That sympathy which he had already felt +for Edith was increased when he saw her face to face. + +All this was not told to Edith at once, but rather in the course of +several conversations. Already in that interview in the prison her +father had explained to her his motives in acting as he had, and this +fuller confession only made those motives more apparent. In Edith this +story served only to excite fresh grief and remorse. But Dalton showed +so much grief himself that Edith was forced to restrain such feelings as +these in his presence. He took all the blame to himself. He would not +allow her to reproach herself. He it was, he insisted, who had been +alone to blame in subjecting a generous, high-spirited girl to such +terrible treatment--to imprisonment and spying and coercion. So great +was his own grief that Edith found herself forced from the position of +penitent into that of comforter, and often had to lose sight of her own +offenses in the endeavor to explain away her own sufferings. + +And thus, where there was so much need of mutual forgiveness and mutual +consolation, each one became less a prey to remorse. + +In the joy which he felt at thus gaining at last all his daughter's +love, especially after the terrible misunderstanding that had divided +her from him, Dalton had no thought for those grave dangers which +surrounded both her and him. But to Edith these dangers still appeared, +and they were most formidable. She could not forget that she was still +liable to arrest on the most appalling of accusations, and that her +father also was liable to discovery and re-arrest. Reginald had tried +to banish her fears and inspire her with hope; but now that he was no +longer near, her position was revealed, and the full possibility of her +danger could no longer be concealed. + +Danger there indeed was, danger most formidable, not to her only, but to +all of them. Coward Sir Lionel might be, but a coward when at bay is +dangerous, since he is desperate. Sir Lionel also was powerful, since +he was armed with all the force that may be given by wealth and +position, and in his despair his utmost resources would undoubtedly be +put forth. Those despairing efforts would be aimed at all of them--all +were alike threatened: herself on the old charge, her father as an +escaped convict, and Reginald as a perjurer and a conspirator against +the ends of justice. As to Lady Dudleigh, she knew not what to think, +but she was aware of Reginald's fears about her and she shared them to +the fullest extent. + +In the midst of all this Edith received letter from Miss Plympton. She +was just recovering, she said, from a severe illness, consequent on +anxiety about her. She had heard the terrible tidings of her arrest, +but of late had been cheered by the news of her release. The letter was +most loving, and revealed all the affection of her “second mother.” Yet +so true was Miss Plympton to the promise which she had made to Mr. +Dalton, that she did not allude to the great secret which had once been +disclosed to her. + +Edith read the letter with varied feelings, and thought with an aching +heart of her reception of that other letter. This letter, however, met +with a different fate. She answered it at once, and told all about her +father, concluding with the promise to go and visit her as soon as she +could. + +And now all her thoughts and hopes were centred upon Reginald. Where +was he? Where was Lady Dudleigh? Had he found Leon? What would Sir +Lionel do? Such were the thoughts that never ceased to agitate her +mind. + +He had been gone a whole week. She had heard nothing from him. +Accustomed as she had been to see him every day for so long a time, this +week seemed prolonged to the extent of a month; and as he had promised +to write her under any circumstances, she could not account for his +failure to keep that promise. His silence alarmed her. As day +succeeded to day, and still no letter came, she became a prey to all +those fearful fancies which may be raised by a vivid imagination, when +one is in suspense about the fate of some dearly loved friend. + +Her father, whose watchful love made him observant of every one of her +varying moods, could not avoid noticing the sadness and agitation of her +face and manner, and was eager to know the cause. This, however, +Edith's modesty would not allow her to explain, but she frankly +confessed that she was anxious. Her anxiety she attributed to her fears +about their situation, and her dread lest something might be found out +about the imposture of Reginald, or about her father's real character +and personality. The fear was not an idle one, and Dalton, though he +tried to soothe her, was himself too well aware of the danger that +surrounded both of them to be very successful in his efforts. + +All this time a steady improvement had been taking place in Dalton's +health, and his recovery from his illness was rapid and continuous. It +was Edith's love and care and sympathy which thus gave strength to him, +and the joy which he felt in her presence was the best medicine for his +afflictions. + +Thus one day he was at last able to venture outside. It was something +more than a week since Reginald had left. Edith was more anxious than +ever, but strove to conceal her anxiety and to drown her own selfish +cares under more assiduous attentions to that father whose whole being +now seemed so to centre upon her. For this purpose she had persuaded +him to leave the Hall, and come forth into the grounds; and the two were +now walking in front of the Hall, around the pond, Edith supporting her +father's feeble footsteps, and trying to cheer him by pointing out some +improvements which ought to be made, while the old man, with his mind +full of sweet peace, thought it happiness enough for him to lean on her +loving arm and hear her sweet voice as she spoke those words of love +which for so many years he had longed to hear. + +In the midst of this they were startled by the approach of several men. + +Visitors were rare at Dalton Hall. Before the recent troubles they had +been prohibited, and though during Dalton's illness the prohibition had +been taken off, yet there were few who cared to pass those gates. Upon +this occasion the approach of visitors gave a sudden shock to Edith and +her father, and when they saw that the chief one among those visitors +was the sheriff, that shock was intensified. + +Yes, the moment had come which they both had dreaded. All was known. +The danger which they had feared was at hand, and each one trembled for +the other. Edith thought that it was her father who was sought after. +Dalton shuddered as he thought that his innocent daughter was once more +in the grasp of the law. + +The sheriff approached, followed by three others, who were evidently +officers of the law. Dalton and Edith stood awaiting them, and Edith +felt her father's hands clasp her arm in a closer and more tremulous +embrace. + +The sheriff greeted them with a mournful face and evident embarrassment. +His errand was a painful one, and it was rendered doubly so by the +piteous sight before him--the feeble old man thus clinging to that +sad-faced young girl, the woe-worn father thus supported by the daughter +whose own experience of life had been so bitter. + +“My business,” said the sheriff, “is a most painful one. Forgive me, +Mrs. Dudleigh. Forgive me, Mr. Dalton. I did not know till now how +painful it would be.” + +He had greeted them in silence, removing his hat respectfully, and +bowing before this venerable old age and this sad-faced beauty, and then +had said these words with some abruptness. And as soon as he named that +name “Dalton,” they both understood that he knew all. + +“You have come for me?” said Dalton. “Very well.” + +A shudder passed through Edith. She flung her arms about her father, +and placed herself before him, as if to interpose between him and that +terrible fate which still pursued its innocent victim. She turned her +large mournful eyes upon the sheriff with a look of silent horror, but +said not a word. + +“I can not help it,” said the sheriff, in still deeper embarrassment. +“I feel for you, for both of you, but you must come with me.” + +“Oh, spare him!” cried Edith. “He is ill. He has just risen from his +bed. Leave him here. He is not fit to go. Let me nurse him.” + +The sheriff looked at her in increasing embarrassment, with a face full +of pity. + +“I am deeply grieved,” he said, in a low voice, “but I can not do +otherwise. I must do my duty. You, Mrs. Dudleigh, must come also. I +have a warrant for you too.” + +“What!” groaned Dalton; “for her?” + +The sheriff said nothing. The old man's face had such an expression of +anguish that words were useless. + +“Again!” murmured Dalton. “Again! and on that false charge! She will +die! she will die!” + +“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Edith. “Do not think of me. I can bear it. +There is no danger for me. It is for you only that I am anxious.” + +“My child! my darling Edith!” groaned the unhappy father, “this is my +work--this is what I have wrought for you.” + +Edith pressed her father to her heart. She raised her pale face, and, +looking upward, sighed out in her agony of soul, + +“O God! Is there any justice in heaven, when this is the justice of +earth!” + +Nothing more was said. No one had any thing to say. This double arrest +was something too terrible for words, and the darkest forebodings came +to the mind of each one of these unhappy victims of the law. And thus, +in silence and in fear, they were led away--to prison and to judgment. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + + +THE BROTHERS. + +On leaving Dalton Hall Reginald went to the place mentioned by Miss +Fortescue. It was on the railway, and was about four miles from +Dudleigh Manor. Here he found Miss Fortescue. + +She told him that she had tried to find Leon by making inquiries every +where among his old haunts, but without any success whatever. At last +she concluded that, since he was in such strict hiding, Dudleigh Manor +itself would not be an unlikely place in which to find him. She had +come here, and, after disguising herself with her usual skill, had made +inquiries of the porter with as much adroitness as possible. All her +efforts, however, were quite in vain. The porter could not be caught +committing himself in any way, but professed to have seen nothing of the +missing man for months. She would have come away from this experiment in +despair had it not been for one circumstance, which, though small in +itself, seemed to her to have very deep meaning. It was this. While she +was talking with the porter a dog came up, which at once began to fawn +on her. This amazed the porter, who did not like the appearance of +things, and tried to drive the dog away. But Miss Fortescue had in an +instant recognized the dog of Leon, well known to herself, and once a +great pet. + +This casual appearance of the dog seemed to her the strongest possible +proof that Leon was now in that very place. He must have been left +purposely in Dalton Park for a few days, probably having been stationed +at that very spot which he kept so persistently. If so, the same one who +left him there must have brought him here. It was inconceivable that the +dog could have found his way here alone from Dalton Park. In addition to +this, the porter's uneasiness at the dog's recognition of her was of +itself full of meaning. + +This was all that she had been able to find out, but this was enough. +Fearful that Leon might suspect who she was, she had written to Reginald +at once; and now that he had come, she urged him to go to Dudleigh Manor +himself and find out the truth. + +There was no need to urge Reginald. His anxiety about his mother was +enough to make him anxious to lose no time, but the prospect of finding +Leon made him now doubly anxious. It was already evening however, and he +would have to defer his visit until the following day. + +At about nine o'clock the next morning Reginald Dudleigh stood at his +father's gate--the gate of that home from which he had been so long an +exile. The porter came out to open it, and stared at him in surprise. + +“I didn't know you was out, Sir,” he said. + +Evidently the porter had mistaken him for Leon. This address assured him +of the fact of Leon's presence. The porter was a new hand, and Reginald +did not think it worth while to explain. He entered silently while the +porter held the gate open, and then walked up the long avenue toward the +manor-house. + +The door was open. He walked in. Some servants were moving about, who +seemed think his presence a matter of course. These also evidently +mistook him for Leon; and these things, slight as they were, assured him +that his brother must be here. Yet in spite of the great purpose for +which he had come--a purpose, as he felt, of life and death, and even +more--in spite of this, he could not help pausing for a moment as he +found himself within these familiar precincts, in the home of his +childhood, within sight of objects so well remembered, so long lost to +view. + +But it was only for a few moments. The first rush of feeling passed, and +then there came back the recollection of all that lay before him, of all +that depended upon this visit. He walked on. He reached the great +stairway. He ascended it. He came to the great hall up stairs. On one +side was the drawing-room, on the other the library. The former was +empty, but in the latter there was a solitary occupant. He was seated at +a table, writing. So intent was this man in his occupation that he did +not hear the sound of approaching footsteps, or at least did not regard +them; for even as Reginald stood looking at him, he went on with his +writing. His back was turned toward the door, so that Reginald could not +see his face, but the outline of the figure was sufficient. Reginald +stood for a moment looking at him. Then he advanced toward the writer, +and laid his hand upon his shoulder. + +The writer gave a sudden start, leaped from his chair, and turned round. +There was fear on his face--the fear of one who is on the look-out for +sudden danger--a fear without a particle of recognition. But gradually +the blankness of his terrified face departed, and there came a new +expression--an expression in which there was equal terror, yet at the +same time a full recognition of the danger before him. + +It was Leon Dudleigh. + +Reginald said not one word, but looked at him with a stern, relentless +face. + +As these two thus stood looking at one another, each saw in the other's +face the marvelous resemblance to himself, which had been already so +striking to others, and so bewildering. But the expression was totally +different. Aside from the general air characteristic of each, there was +the look that had been called up by the present meeting. Reginald +confronted his brother with a stern, menacing gaze, and a look of +authority that was more than the ordinary look which might belong to an +elder brother. Leon's face still kept its look of fear, and there +seemed to be struggling with this fear an impulse to fly, which he was +unable to obey. Reginald looked like the master, Leon like the culprit +and the slave. + +Leon was the first to speak. + +“You--here!” he faltered. + +“Where else should I be?” said Reginald, in a stern voice. + +“What do you want?” asked Leon, rallying from his fear, and apparently +encouraged by the sound of his own voice. + +“What do I want?” repeated Reginald. “Many things. First, I want you; +secondly, my mother.” + +“You won't get any thing out of me,” said Leon, fiercely. + +“In the first place, the sight of you is one of the chief things,” said +Reginald, with a sneer. “After having heard your sad fate, it is +something to see you here in the flesh.” + +“It's that infernal porter!” cried Leon, +half to himself. + +“What do you mean? Do you blame him for letting me +in--_me_--Reginald Dudleigh-your elder brother?” + +“You're disinherited,” growled Leon. + +“Pooh!” said Reginald. “How can the eldest son be disinherited? But I'm +not going to waste time. I have come to call you to account for what +you have done, and I have that to say to you which you must hear, and, +what is more, you must obey.” + +If Leon's face could have grown whiter than it already was, it would +have become so at these words. His fear seemed swallowed up in a wild +overmastering rush of fury and indignation. He started back and seized +the bell-rope. + +“I don't know you!” he almost yelled. “Who are you!” Saying this he +pulled the bell-rope again and again. “Who are you?” he repeated over +and over again, pulling the bell-rope as he spoke. “I'll have you +turned out. You're an infernal impostor! Who are you? I can prove that +Reginald Dudleigh is dead. I'll have you turned out. I'll have you +turned out.” + +While he was speaking, his frantic and repeated tugs at the bell had +roused the house. Outside the rush of footsteps was heard, and soon a +crowd of servants poured into the room. + +“You scoundrels!” roared Leon. “What do you mean by letting strangers in +here in this way? Put this fellow out! Put him out! Curse you! why don't +you collar him and put him out?” + +As the servants entered, Reginald turned half round and faced them. Leon +shouted out these words, and shook his fist toward his brother, while +the servants stared in amazement at the astonishing spectacle. The two +brothers stood there before them, the one calm and self-possessed, the +other infuriated with excitement; but the wonderful resemblance between +them held the servants spell-bound. + +As soon as he could make himself heard Reginald spoke. + +“You will do nothing of the kind. Most of you are new faces, but some +of you remember me. Holder,” said he, as his eyes wandering over the +faces before him, rested upon one, “don't you know your young master? +Have you forgotten Reginald Dudleigh?” + +As he said this an old man came forth from the rear and looked at him, +with his hands clasped together and his eyes full of tears. + +“Lord be merciful to us all,” he cried with a trembling voice, “if it +beant Master Reginald hisself come back to life again and me mournin' +over him as dead! Oh Master Reginald, but it's glad I am this day. And +where have ye been?” + +“Never mind, old man,” said Reginald, kindly; “you'll know soon enough.” + Saying this, he shook the old man's hand, and then turned with lowering +brow once more upon Leon. + +“Leon,” said he, “none of this foolery, You found out what I am when you +were a boy. None of this hysterical excitement. _I_ am master +here.” + +But Leon made no reply. With his face now on fire with rage, he +retreated a few steps and looked under the table. He called quickly to +something that was there, and as he called, a huge dog came forth and +stood by his side. This dog he led forward, and pointed at Reginald. + +The servants looked on with pale faces at this scene, overcome with +horror as they saw Leon's purpose. + +“Go,” said Leon, fiercely, to Reginald, “or you'll be sorry.” + +Reginald said nothing, but put his hand into his breast pocket and drew +forth a revolver. It was not a very common weapon in England in those +days, but Reginald had picked one up in his wanderings, and had brought +it with him on the present occasion. Leon, however, did not seem to +notice it. He was intent on one purpose, and that was to drive Reginald +away. + +He therefore put his hand on the dog's head, and, pointing toward his +brother, shouted, “At him, Sir!” The dog hesitated for a moment. His +master called again. The huge brute gathered himself up. One more cry +from the now frenzied Leon, and the dog gave a tremendous leap forward +full at Reginald's throat. + +A cry of horror burst from the servants. They were by no means +oversensitive, but this scene was too terrible. + +The dog sprang. + +But at that instant the loud report of Reginald's revolver rang through +the house, and the fierce beast, with a sharp howl, fell back, and lay +on the floor writhing in his death agony. The wound was a mortal one. + +Reginald replaced his pistol in his pocket. + +“I'm sorry for the poor beast,” said he, as he looked at the dog for a +moment, “but I could not help it. And you,” he continued, turning to the +servants, “go down stairs. When I want you I will call for you. Holder +will tell you who I am.” + +At this the servants all retreated, overawed by the look and manner of +this new master. + +The shot of the pistol seemed to have overwhelmed Leon. He shrank back, +and stared by turns at Reginald and the dog, with a white face and a +scowling-brow. + +After the servants had gone, Reginald walked up to him. + +[Illustration: THE FIERCE BEAST, WITH A SHARP HOWL, FELL BACK.] + +“I will have no more words,” said he, fiercely. “I'm your master now, +Leon, as I always have been. You are in my power now. You must either +do as I bid you, or else go to jail. I have taken up all your notes; I +have paid more than forty thousand pounds, and I now hold those notes of +yours. I do not intend to let you go till you do what I wish. If you +don't, I will take you from this place and put you in jail. I have +warrants all ready, and in the proper hands. The officers are waiting +in the neighborhood. Besides these claims, I shall have charges against +you of a graver kind; you know what, so that you can not escape. Now +listen. I am your only creditor now, and your only accuser. You need +not hide any longer, or fly from the country. Confess; come to terms +with me, and you shall be a free man; refuse, and you shall suffer the +very worst that the law inflicts. If you do not come to terms with me, +you are lost. I give you only this chance. You can do nothing. You +can not harm Miss Dalton now, for I have found you out, and your +miserable trick is of no use any longer. Come, now; decide at once. I +will give you just ten minutes. If you come to terms, you are safe; if +not, you go to jail.” + +“Who'll take me!” said Leon, in a surly voice. + +“_I_,” said Reginald--“_I_, with my own hands. I will take +you out of this place, and hand you over to the officers who are waiting +not very far away.” + +Saying this, Reginald looked at his watch, and then replacing it, turned +once more to Leon. + +“Your tricks have failed. I will produce you as you are, and Miss +Dalton will be safe. You'll have to explain it all in court, so you may +as well explain it to me. I don't want to be hard with you. I know you +of old, and have forgiven other villainies of yours. You can't take +vengeance on any one. Even your silence will be of no use. You must +choose between a confession to me now, or a general confession in court. +Besides, even if you could have vengeance, it wouldn't be worth so much +to a man like you as what I offer you. I offer you freedom. I will +give you back all your notes and bonds. You will be no longer in any +danger. More, I will help you. I don't want to use harsh measures if I +can help it. Don't be a fool. Do as I say, and accept my offer. If +you don't, I swear, after what you've done I'll show you no more mercy +than I showed your dog.” + +Leon was silent. His face grew more tranquil. He was evidently +affected by his brother's words. He stood, in thought, with his eyes +fixed on the floor. Debt was a great evil. Danger was around him. +Freedom was a great blessing. Thus far he had been safe only because he +had been in hiding. Besides, he was powerless now, and his knowledge of +Reginald, as he had been in early life, and as he saw him now, showed +him that his brother always meant what he said. + +“I don't believe you have those notes and bonds.” + +“How could I know unless I paid them? I will tell you the names +concerned in most of them, and the amounts.” + +And Reginald thereupon enumerated several creditors, with the amounts +due to each. By this Leon was evidently convinced. + +“And you've paid them?” said he. + +“Yes.” + +“And you'll give them to me?” + +“I will. I am your only creditor now. I have found out and paid every +debt of yours. I did this to force you to come to term. That is all I +want. You see that this is for your interest. More, I will give you +enough to begin life on. Do you ask more than this?” + +Leon hesitated for a short time longer. + +“Well,” said he at last, “what is it that you want me to do?” + +“First of all I want you to tell me about that infernal trick of yours +with--the body. Whose is it? Mind you, it's of no consequence now, so +long as you are alive, and can be produced; but I wish to know.” + +With some hesitation Leon informed his brother. The information which +he gave confirmed the suspicions of Miss Fortescue. He had determined +to be avenged on Edith and her father, and after that night on which +Edith had escaped he had managed to procure a body in London from some +of the body-snatchers who supplied the medical schools there. He had +removed the head, and dressed it in the clothes which he had last worn. +He had taken it to Dalton Park and put it in the well about a week after +Edith's flight. He had never gone back to his room, but had purposely +left it as it was, so as to make his disappearance the more suspicious. +He himself had contrived to raise those frequent rumors which had arisen +and grown to such an extent that they had terminated in the search at +Dalton Park. Anonymous letters to various persons had suggested to them +the supposed guilt of Edith, and the probability of the remains being +found in the well. + +The horror which Reginald felt at this disclosure was largely mitigated +by the fact that he had already imagined some such proceeding as this, +for he had felt sure that it was a trick, and therefore it had only been +left to account for the trick. + +The next thing which Reginald had to investigate was the mock marriage. +But here he did not choose to question Leon directly about Edith. He +rather chose to investigate that earlier marriage with Miss Fortescue. + +By this time Leon's objections to confess had vanished. The inducements +which Reginald held out were of themselves attractive enough to one in +his desperate position, and, what was more, he felt that there was no +alternative. Having once begun, he seemed to grow accustomed to it, and +spoke with greater freedom. + +To Reginald's immense surprise and relief, Leon informed him that the +marriage with Miss Fortescue was not a mock marriage at all. For once +in his life he had been honest. The marriage had been a real one. It +was only after the affair in the Dalton vaults that he had pretended +that it was false. He did so in order to free himself from his real +wife, and gain some control over the Dalton estate. The Rev. Mr. Porter +was a bona fide clergyman, and the marriage had been conducted in a +legal manner. He had found out that the Rev. Mr. Porter had gone to +Scotland, and saw that he could easily deceive his wife. + +“But,” said Reginald, “what is the reason that your wife could never +find him out? She looked over all the lists of clergymen, and wrote to +all of the name of Porter. She could not find him.” + +“Naturally enough,” said Leon, indifferently. “She supposed that he +belonged to the Church, because he used the Church service; but he was a +Presbyterian.” + +“Where is he now?” + +“When last I heard about him he was at Falkirk.” + +“Then Miss Fortescue was regularly married, and is now your wife?” + +“She is my wife,” said Leon. + +At this Reginald was silent for some time. The joy that filled his +heart at this discovery was so great that for a time it drove away those +other thoughts, deep and dread, that had taken possession of him. But +these thoughts soon returned. + +“One thing more,” said he, in an anxious voice. “Leon, where is my +mother?” + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + + +THE SONS AND THEIR FATHER. + +“Where is my mother?” + +Such was Reginald's last question. He asked it as though Lady Dudleigh +was only _his_ mother, and not the mother of Leon also. But the +circumstances of his past life had made his father and his brother seem +like strangers, and his mother seemed all his own. + +At this question Leon stared at him with a look of surprise that was +evidently unfeigned. + +“Your mother?” he repeated. + +“I do not say _our_ mother,” said Reginald. “I say _my_ +mother. Where is she?” + +“I swear I know nothing about her,” said Leon, earnestly. “I have never +seen her.” + +“You have never seen her?” repeated Reginald, in a tremulous voice. + +“Never,” said Leon; “that is, not since she left this place ten years +ago.” + +“You saw her at Dalton Hall!” cried Reginald. + +“At Dalton Hall? I did not,” said Leon. + +“Mrs. Dunbar, she called herself. You saw her often.” + +“Mrs. Dunbar! Good Heavens!” cried Leon, in unaffected surprise. “How +was I to know that?” + +Reginald looked at him gloomily and menacingly. + +“Leon,” said he, in a stern voice, “if you dare to deceive me about +this, I will show no mercy. You must tell _all_--yes, _all_.” + +“But I tell you I don't know any thing about her,” said Leon; “I swear I +don't. I'll tell every thing that I know. No such person has ever been +here.” + +Reginald looked at his brother with a gloomy frown; but Leon's tone +seemed sincere, and the thought came to him that his brother could have +no reason for concealment. If Leon did not know, he would have to seek +what he wished from another--his father. His father and his mother had +gone off together; that father alone could tell. + +“Where is Sir Lionel?” asked Reginald, as these thoughts came to him. He +called him “Sir Lionel.” He could not call him “father.” + +Leon looked at him with a strange expression. + +“He is here,” said he. + +“Where shall I find him? I want to see him at once. Is he in his room?” + +Leon hesitated. + +“Quick!” said Reginald, impatiently. “Why don't you answer?” + +“You won't get much satisfaction out of him,” said Leon, in a peculiar +voice. + +“I'll find out what he knows. I'll tear the secret out of him,” cried +Reginald, fiercely. “Where is he? Come with me. Take me to him.” + +“You'll find it rather hard to get any thing out of him,” said Leon, +with a short laugh. “He's beyond even your reach, and your courts of +law too.” + +“What do you mean?” cried Reginald. + +“Well, you may see for yourself,” said Leon. “You won't be satisfied, I +suppose, unless you do. Come along. You needn't be alarmed. I won't run. +I'll stick to my part of our agreement, if you stick to yours.” + +With these words Leon led the way out of the library, and Reginald +followed. They went up a flight of stairs and along a hall to the +extreme end. Here Leon stopped at a door, and proceeded to take a key +from his pocket. This action surprised Reginald. He remembered the room +well. In his day it had not been used at all, except on rare occasions, +and had been thus neglected on account of its gloom and dampness. + +“What's the meaning of this?” he asked, gloomily, looking suspiciously +at the key. + +“Oh, you'll see soon enough,” said Leon. + +With these words he inserted the key in the lock as noiselessly as +possible, and then gently turned the bolt. Having done this, he opened +the door a little, and looked in with a cautions movement. These +proceedings puzzled Reginald still more, and he tried in vain to +conjecture what their object might be. + +One cautious look satisfied Leon. He opened the door wider, and said, in +a low voice, to his brother, + +“Come along; he's quiet just now.” + +With these words he entered, and held the door for Reginald to pass +through. Without a moment's hesitation Reginald went into the room. He +took but one step, and then stopped, rooted to the floor by the sight +that met his eyes. + +The room was low, and had no furniture but an iron bed. There were two +small, deep windows, over which the ivy had grown so closely that it +dimmed the light, and threw an air of gloom over the scene. + +Upon the iron bed was seated a strange figure, the sight of which sent a +thrill of horror through Reginald's frame. It was a thin, emaciated +figure, worn and bent. His hair was as white as snow; his beard and +mustache were short and stubbly, as though they were the growth of but a +few weeks; while his whiskers were bushy and matted together. + +Over this figure a quilt was thrown in a fantastic manner, under which +appeared a long night-gown, from which thin bare legs protruded, with +bare, gaunt, skeleton-like feet. + +As he sat there his eyes wandered about on vacancy; a silly smile was on +his white, worn face; he kept muttering to himself continually some +incoherent and almost inaudible sentences; and at the same time his long +bony fingers kept clawing and picking at the quilt which covered him. + +[Illustration: “UPON THE IRON BED WAS SEATED A STRANGE FIGURE.”] + +At first Reginald could scarce believe what he saw; but there was the +fact before his eyes, and the terrible truth could not be denied that in +this wretched creature before him was the wreck of that one who but a +short time before had seemed to him to be a powerful and unscrupulous +villain, full of the most formidable plans for inflicting fresh wrongs +upon those whom he had already so foully injured. Reginald had seen him +for a few moments at the trial, and had noticed that the ten eventful +years for which they had been parted had made but little difference in +his appearance. The casual glimpses of him which he afterward had +caught showed some change, but nothing very striking; but now the change +was terrible, the transformation was hideous; the strong man had become +a shattered wreck; the once vigorous mind had sunk into a state of +helpless imbecility and driveling idiocy. + +Leon shut the door, and turning the key, stood looking on. The slight +noise which he made attracted the wandering gaze of the madman. He +started slightly, and stood up, wrapping the quilt carefully around him. +Then, with a silly smile, he advanced a few paces. + +“Well, Dr. Morton,” he said, in a weak, quavering voice, “you have +received my letter, I hope. Here is this person that I wrote about. Her +name is Mrs. Dunbar. She is an old dependent. She is mad--ha, ha!--mad. +Yes, mad, doctor. She thinks she is my wife. She calls herself Lady +Dudleigh. But, doctor, her real name is Mrs. Dunbar. She is mad, +doctor--mad--mad--mad. Ha, ha, ha!” + +At these words a terrible suspicion came to Reginald's mind. The madman +had still prominent in his thoughts the idea which he had lately been +carrying out. Could there be any truth in these words, or were they mere +fancies? He said not a word, but looked and listened in anxious silence. +He had felt a moment's pity for this man, who, wretch though he had +been, was still his father; but now his mother's image rose before +him--his mother, pale, suffering, and perhaps despairing--and in his +eager desire to learn her fate, all softer feelings for his father died +out. + +“You must keep her, Dr. Morton,” said Sir Lionel, in the same tone. “You +know what she wants. I will pay you well. Money is no object. You must +keep her close--close--yes, close as the grave. She is incurable, +doctor. She must never come out of this place with her mad fancies. For +she is mad--mad--mad--mad--mad. Oh yes. Ha, ha, ha!” + +Sir Lionel then smiled as before, and chuckled to himself, while a leer +of cunning triumph flashed for a moment from his wandering eyes. +“Trapped!” he ejaculated, softly. “Trapped! The keeper! The keeper +trapped! She thought she was my keeper! And so she was. But she was +trapped--yes, trapped. The keeper trapped! Ha, ha, ha! She thought it +was an inn,” he continued, after a brief silence, in which he chuckled +to himself over the remembrance of his scheme; “and so she was trapped. +The keeper was caught herself, and found herself in a mad-house! And +she'll never get out--never! She's mad. They'll all believe it. Mad! +Yes, mad--and in a mad-house! Ha, ha, ha! There's Lady Dudleigh for +you! But she's Mrs. Dunbar now. Ha, ha, ha!” + +Reginald's eagerness to learn more was uncontrollable. In his impatience +to find out he could no longer wait for his father's stray confessions. + +“What mad-house? Where?” he asked, eagerly and abruptly. + +Sir Lionel did not look at him. But the question came to him none the +less. It came to him as if it had been prompted by his own thoughts, and +he went on upon the new idea which this question started. + +“She saw me write it, too--the letter--and she saw me write the address. +There it was as plain as day--the address. Dr. Morton, I wrote, +Lichfield Asylum, Lichfield, Berks. But she didn't look at it. She +helped me put it in the post-office. Trapped! Trapped! Oh yes--the +keeper trapped!” he continued. “She thought we were going to Dudleigh +Manor, but we were going to Lichfield Asylum. And we stopped there. And +she stopped there. And she is there now. Trapped! Ha, ha, ha! And, my +good doctor, keep her close, for she's mad. Oh yes--mad--mad--mad--and +very dangerous!” + +The wretched man now began to totter from weakness, and finally sat down +upon the floor. Here he gathered his quilt about him, and began to smile +and chuckle and wag his head and pick at his fantastic dress as before. +The words which he muttered were inaudible, and those which could be +heard were utterly incoherent. The subject that had been presented to +his mind by the entrance of Reginald was now forgotten, and his thoughts +wandered at random, like the thoughts of a feverish dream, without +connection and without meaning. + +Reginald turned away. He could no longer endure so painful a spectacle. +He had been long estranged from his father, and he had come home for the +sake of obtaining justice from that father, for the sake of the innocent +man who had suffered so unjustly and so terribly, and whom he loved as a +second father. Yet here there was a spectacle which, if he had been a +vengeful enemy, would have filled him with horror. One only feeling was +present in his mind now to alleviate that horror, and this was a sense +of profound relief that this terrible affliction had not been wrought by +any action of his. He had no hand in it. It had come upon his father +either as the gradual result of years of anxiety, or as the immediate +effect of the sudden appearance of Dalton and his wife. + +But for these thoughts there was no leisure. His whole mind was filled +with but one idea--his mother. In a few moments they were outside the +room. The madman was left to himself, and Reginald questioned Leon about +him. + +“I have heard all this before,” said Leon. “He came home very queer, +and before a week was this way. I put him in there to keep him out of +mischief. I feed him myself. No one else goes near him. I've had a +doctor up, but he could do nothing. He has often talked in this way +about trapping someone, but he never mentioned any name till today. He +never did--I swear he never did. I swear I had no idea that he had +reference to my--to Lady Dudleigh. I thought it was some crazy fancy +about Mr. Dalton--some scheme of his for 'trapping' him. I did--I +swear.” + +Such was Leon's statement, extorted from him by the fiercest of +cross-questionings on the part of Reginald, accompanied by most savage +threats. + +Leon, however, swore that he thought it referred to a scheme of his +father's to “trap” Dalton, and shut him up in a mad-house. If it was +true that no names had been mentioned, Reginald saw that it was quite +possible that Leon might have supposed what he said, though his +knowledge of his brother did not lead him to place any particular +confidence in his statement, even when accompanied by an oath. + +It now remained to find out, without delay, the place which the madman +had revealed. Reginald remembered it well: _Dr. Morton, Lichfield +Asylum, Lichfield, Berks._ Leon also said that the same name had been +always mentioned. There could not, therefore, be any mistake about this, +and it only remained to find out where it was. + +Leon knew both the man and the place, and told all that he knew, not +because he had a particle of affection for his mother, but because he +wished to satisfy Reginald, so as to gain that freedom which his brother +only could give him. He had been the intimate confidant of his father, +and this Dr. Morton had been connected with them previously in another +affair. He was therefore able to give explicit information about the +place, and the quickest manner of reaching it. + +Reginald set off that very day. + +“It will be better for you to stay here,” said he to Leon, as he was +leaving, in a significant tone. + +“Oh, I'll stay,” said Leon. “If you act square, that's all I want. Give +me those notes and bonds, and I'll never trouble you or yours again.” + +Before leaving he obtained from Leon further information about his first +marriage with Miss Fortescue. This he communicated to Leon's wife, whom +he found waiting for him in great suspense. As soon as she heard it she +set out for London to find the witness mentioned by Leon; after which +she intended to go to Falkirk in search of the clergyman. + +After parting with Leon's wife, Reginald left by the first train, _en +route_ for Dr. Morton's asylum at Lichfield, in accordance with +Leon's directions. On the middle of the following day he reached the +place. + +He came there accompanied by two officers of the law, who had a warrant +for the arrest of Dr. Morton on a charge of conspiracy and illegal +imprisonment. That distinguished physician came down to see his +visitors, under the impression that one of them was a patient, and was +very much surprised when he found himself under arrest. Still more +surprised was he when Reginald asked him, fiercely, after Lady Dudleigh. + +In a few moments the door of Lady Dudleigh's room was flung open, and +the almost despairing inmate found herself in the arms of her son. She +looked feeble and emaciated, though not so much so as Reginald had +feared. She had known too much of the sorrows of life to yield +altogether to this new calamity. Her chief grief had been about others, +the fear that they might have become the prey of the villain who had +shut her in here; but in spite of her terrible suspense, she struggled +against the gloom of her situation, and tried to hope for release. It +had come at last, and with it came also the news that there was no +longer any need for her or for Reginald to take any proceedings against +the guilty husband and father, since he had been struck down by a more +powerful arm. + +When they went away, Dr. Morton was taken away also. In due time he was +tried on the charge above mentioned. He showed, however, that Lady +Dudleigh had been put under his care by Sir Lionel himself, and in the +usual way; that Sir Lionel had specified the nature of her insanity to +consist in the belief that she was his wife, and that so long as she +maintained that belief he thought her actually insane. He showed that, +apart from that confinement which he had deemed requisite, she had been +treated with no unnecessary cruelty. Many other things he also showed, +by means of which he contrived to obtain an acquittal. Still, so much +came out in the course of the trial, and so very narrow was his escape, +and so strong was his fear of being re-arrested on other charges, that +he concluded to emigrate to another country, and this he did without +delay. + +But Reginald returned at once with his mother to Dudleigh Manor. Here +Lady Dudleigh for a few days sank under the effects of the accumulated +troubles through which she had passed, and when at length she was able +to move about, Sir Lionel was the first one of whom she thought, and she +at once devoted herself to him. But the wretched man was already beyond +the reach of her care. His strength was failing rapidly; he refused all +nourishment; his mind was a hopeless wreck; he recognized no one; and +all that was now left to the wife to do was to watch over him and nurse +him as patiently as possible until the end, which she knew must be near. + +In the excitement consequent upon his first return, his interviews with +Leon and Sir Lionel, his rescue of Lady Dudleigh, and his deep anxiety +about her after her release. Reginald had sent no word to Edith of any +kind. This arose neither from neglect nor forgetfulness, but because +his surroundings were too sad, and he had not the heart to write to her +until some brighter prospect should appear. His mother's short illness +at first alarmed him; but this passed away, and on her recovery he felt +sufficiently cheerful to send to Edith an account of all that had +occurred. + +Ten days had passed since he parted with +her. On the day after he wrote to her he +received a letter from her. It was the first +communication that he had received. + +That letter conveyed to him awful intelligence. It informed him of the +arrest of Edith and Frederick Dalton. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + + +CONCLUSION. + +This intelligence was so terrible and so unexpected that for some time +he felt overwhelmed with utter horror. Then a dark suspicion came to +him that this was the work of Leon, who, enraged at his baffled schemes, +had dealt this last blow upon those whom he had already so deeply +wronged. This suspicion roused the utmost fury of Reginald's nature, +and he hurried forth at once to seek his brother. + +He found him sauntering up and down in front of the house. Leon had +remained here ever since his interview with Reginald, in accordance with +his promise. As he now saw his brother approach, he started, and looked +at him with an expression of astonishment not unmingled with terror. + +Without any preliminaries, Reginald at once assailed him with the most +vehement denunciations, and in a few burning words, fall of abhorrence +and wrath, he accused him of this new piece of villainy. + +“You're wrong--you're wrong--you're altogether wrong!” cried Leon, +eagerly. “I have done nothing--I swear I've done nothing! I've never +left the place. + +“You've sent word!” cried Reginald, furiously. + +“I have not--I swear I haven't!” said Leon. “I haven't written a line +to any one. I've had no communication whatever with a single soul.” + +“It's your work, and yours only!” cried Reginald; “and, by Heaven, you +shall suffer for it! You've broken the agreement between us, and now +I'll show you no mercy!” + +“I haven't broken it! I swear by all that's most holy!” cried Leon, +earnestly. “I see how it is. This is merely the result of the old +rumors--the old work going on. I swear it is! Besides, what danger can +happen to Miss Dalton? I need only show myself. I'll go there with you +at once. Can I do more than that? When I am seen alive, there is no +more danger for her. Do you think I'd be such an infernal fool as to +work out such a piece of spite, which I would know to be utterly +useless? No. I only want to wind up the whole affair, and get my +freedom. I'll go there with you or without you, and make it all right +so far as she is concerned. There. Can I do any thing more?” + +These words mollified Reginald in some degree, since they showed that, +after all, this new trouble might, as Leon said, have arisen from old +machinations, as their natural result, and did not necessarily involve +any new action on Leon's part. + +“I'll go,” said Reginald, “and you shall go with me; but if I find that +you have played me false this time, by Heaven, I'll crush you!” + +Reginald, accompanied by Leon, hurried off at once to the succor of +Edith, and arrived there on the following day. It was the fifth day of +their imprisonment, but, to Reginald's immense relief, this new +misfortune did not seem to have affected either of them so painfully as +he had feared. For to Edith imprisonment was familiar now, and this +time she had the discovery of Miss Fortescue to console her. Besides, +she had her father to think of and to care for. The kindness of the +authorities had allowed the two to be together as much as possible; and +Edith, in the endeavor to console her father, had forced herself to look +on the brighter side of things, and to hope for the best. + +Dalton, too, had borne this arrest with equanimity. After the first +shock was past he thought over all that was most favorable to escape +rather than the gloomier surroundings of a situation like his. For +himself he cared nothing. To be brought once more before a court of law +was desirable rather than otherwise. His arrangements for his own +vindication were all complete, and he knew that the court could only +acquit him with honor. But about Edith he felt an anxiety which was +deeper than he cared to show, for he did not know how the evidence +against her would be received. + +The arrival of Reginald, however, drove away every fear. He brought the +missing man himself. All was now explained. The news ran through the +community like wildfire, and public opinion, which had so severely +prejudged Edith, now turned around with a flood of universal sympathy in +her favor. Some formalities had to be undergone, and then she was free. + +The circumstances that had brought to light Edith's innocence served +also to make known the innocence, the wrongs, and the sufferings of the +father. The whole story of Dalton was made public through the exertions +of Reginald, and society, which had once condemned him, now sought to +vindicate him. But the work of vindication had to be done elsewhere, +and in a more formal manner. Until then Dalton had to wait; yet this +much of benefit he received from public sympathy, that he was allowed to +go free and live at Dalton Hall until the law should finally decide his +fate. + +Long before that decision Sir Lionel passed away from the judgment of +man to answer or his crimes at a higher tribunal. He passed away in his +madness, unconscious of the presence of that wife whom he had doomed to +exile, and who now, his only attendant, sought to soothe the madman's +last moments. But the measures that were taken to vindicate Dalton were +successful. Lady Dudleigh and Reginald could give their evidence in his +favor without the fear of dealing out death to one so near as Sir +Lionel. Death had already come to him, sent by a mightier power, and +Dalton's vindication involved no new anguish. So it was that Frederick +Dalton was at length cleared of that guilt that had so long clung to +him; and if any thing could atone for his past sufferings, it was the +restoration of his name to its ancient honor, the public expression of +sympathy from the court and from the world, and the deep joy of Edith +over such a termination to his sorrows. + +But this was a work of time. Before this Reginald and Edith were +married. They lived at Dudleigh Manor, for the associations of Dalton +Hall were too painful, and Edith did not care to make a home in her old +prison-house. To her father, too, the Hall was distasteful as a +residence, and he made his abode with his daughter, who was now the only +one on earth in whom he took any interest. But Dalton Hall was not +untenanted. Lady Dudleigh lived there in the old home of her childhood, +and passed her time in works of charity. She made an effort to reclaim +Leon, and succeeded in keeping him with her for a few weeks; but the +quiet life soon proved intolerable, and he wandered away at length to +other scenes. + +Reginald had dealt faithfully and even generously by him. After all his +crimes and villainies, he could not forget that he was his brother, and +he had done all in his power to renew his life for him. He had given +him all the claims which he had collected, and thus had freed him from +debt. He had also given him money enough to enable him to start afresh +in life. But the money was soon gone, and the habits which, Leon had +formed made any change for the better impossible. He wandered away into +his former associations and became a miserable vagabond, constantly +sinking down deep into misery, to be saved for a time by his mother's +assistance, but only to sink once more. + +Mention must be made of two others before this story closes. + +One of these is Leon's wife. She went away from Dudleigh Manor to +Scotland in search of the clergyman who had married her. She succeeded +in finding him, and in obtaining from him a formal certificate of her +marriage. This, however, was not for the purpose of acquiring any hold +whatever upon Leon, but rather for the sake of her own honor, and also +out of regard for Edith, whom she wished to free from the last shadow of +that evil which her own deceit had thrown upon the innocent girl. After +this she was satisfied. She did not seek Leon again, nor did she ever +again see him. She retired from the world altogether, and joining a +sisterhood of mercy, devoted the remainder of her life to acts of +charity and humanity. + +Last of all remains Miss Plympton, with whom this story began, and with +whom it may end. That good lady recovered from the illness into which +she had fallen on account of her anxiety about Edith, and was able to +visit her not long after her release from her last imprisonment. She +had given up her school; and as she had no home, she yielded to Edith's +affectionate entreaties, and found a new home with her, where she passed +the remainder of her days. + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Living Link, by James De Mille + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIVING LINK *** + +***** This file should be named 8711-0.txt or 8711-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/7/1/8711/ + +Produced by Rich Magahiz, David Moynihan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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