The Novelist.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 177, 21 November 1874, Page 3

The Novelist.

EDITH DALTON’S STORY. CHAPTER XIX. FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. At about 10 o’clock on the following day “ Little Dudleigh”—as Edith found herself speaking of him—came back. “Of course, Miss Dalton,” he said, “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. lam sorry, but it cannot 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, “ but if there were any other way I would find it out, or you would know it. But from what I have seen and heard, 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 round. “ 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. She was brave, but bloodshed could not be lightly faced. “ I cannot bear that.” “ 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. But I have other plans which may not appear so objectionable.” “ Other plans ?” “ 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. 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 hoarding-school, and I do not wish to go there and meet my old schoolmates, 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 defence.” # “ 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 ; and 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 enou°-h—everybody knows where that is. But what 3 then ? Nobody is there.” “ What ! Is not Sir Lionel there ?” “ Sir Lionel there ! I only wish he were. 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. Sir Lionel? Why, at this moment I daresay 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 meantime ? Where can you go ?” “ There is Miss Plympton.” u 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. “ Exactly ; and her desertion of you may be accounted for in one or two ways. Eirst, Wiggins may actually have seen her, and frightened her in some way. The other explanation of her silence is that she may be ill.” “ 111 !” 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. “ 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 to 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 ? You have never obtained any from Wiggins as yet, then ?” “ I have.never needed any.” “He spends your own money in paying these spies and gaolers. But if you have no money, how can you manage to live, even if you do escape ?” Edith looked down in despair. “ 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 cannot be remedied. Is there anything 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 ; hut, 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 he here, as you are, or at Miss Plympton’s school as a sort of dependant ?” “ 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 looks like it.” “ Well, then, may it not he better for you to remain here, for the present, at least, until you hear something of Sir Lionel Dudleigh ?” “ But how long will that be ?” “ I cannot 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—lf 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 ease, 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 them out. At any rate, these lawyers have all kinds of ways, you know, of getting into places.” “ And of getting people out of places, too, I hope.” • “ I should he sorry not to hope that.” So Edith found herself, by the inexorable logic of the stranger’s way of putting things, compelled to face the difficulties of her present situation a little longer. CHAPTER XX. A WARNING. 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. Pie 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, m? present course. It is only for

your 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 X 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, 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 X come to you to give you—a —an—affectionate warning —to ask 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 refer to Lieutenant Dudleigli.” “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.” “Heis an adventurer,” said Wiggins. “You know nothing about him. I believe his name is false. Does he not pretend to be the son of Sir Lionel ?” “No ; he says that ho 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 villian, and 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 cannot—l cannot. 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. become one like you to rise such a word as that. Eor what are you yourself ? Lieutenant Dudleigh is a gentleman ; and though I have only known him for a short time, lam 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 which 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. “Both of us? You seem to me to be including yourself and me in the same class, as though there could be anything in common between me and one like you. That is impossible. Our interests are for ever 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 of both of us.” “Us ! You use that expression with strange pertinacity. For my part I consider you simply as my natural enemy. I am your prisoner. I am at war with you. I would give you half of my possessions to escape from your hands, and the other half to punish you for what you have done. If any one is an enemy of yours, that is a sufficient recommendation to make him a friend of mine.” 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. “ l 3 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, lam 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 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 !” _ . ZSTow if Wiggins had. "wished to mollify Edith, or to persuade her to fall in with his own wishes, he was certainly most unfortunate in hi 3 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 fresh excitement.

“What!” she exclaimed. “Do yon throw that up against 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 anything, however wild or frantic ? Who ? \\]!y, 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 ?”

He 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 emotion, 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 everything. There is. one thing which would put an end to all the misery which you inflict on me, but that one thing I wish on no account to say just now. I cannot just yet give up the hope that has cheered me for so long a time ; still I must warn you. Bash 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 no other 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,'l 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 yet hope to find, and by his help escape from your infamous control, and punish you for all your villainy towards 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 !”. Wiggins rose. He did not look at Editn. He did not say a word. He seemed overwhelmed. His head was bowed dow n 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 more than any other living man.”

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