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"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.