Holman Day - "All Wool Morrison"

Louis Stone - "Jonah"

Friedrich de la Motte Fouque - "Undine"

George Herbert Palmer - "The Nature of Goodness"

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




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?