Mungo Park - "Travels in the Interior of Africa Volume 1"

Anatole France - "The Red Lily, v2"

Lloyd Osbourne - "The Motormaniacs"

(H)erbert (G)eorge Wells - "Little Wars"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Living Link

J >> James De Mille >> The Living Link




"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?"