Percival Lowell - "Noto, An Unexplored Corner of Japan"

Euripedes - "The Iphigenia in Tauris"

Jean de La Fontaine - "The Tales and Novels, v15: The Mandrake & The Rhemese"

Charles Franklin Carter - "Old Mission Stories of California"

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




All this change was manifest in her look and tone as she again addressed
Mrs. Dunbar.

"You have all mistaken me," said she, with bitter hostility; "you have
imagined that you had to deal with some silly child. But this shall do
none of you any good. You may kill me among you, but I am not afraid to
die. Death itself will be welcome rather than submission to that foul
miscreant, that vulgar coward, who takes advantage of a contemptible
trick, and pretends that there was a marriage. I say this to you--that I
defy him and all of you, and will defy you all--yes, to the bitter end;
and you may go and tell this to your wretched confederates."

As Edith said this, Mrs. Dunbar looked at her; and if there could have
appeared upon that face the signs of a wounded heart--a heart cut and
stung to its inmost fibre--the face that confronted Edith showed all
this at that moment.

"Confederates!" she repeated.

"Yes, you and Wiggins and this villain who, you say, is now living
here."

"What, Leon!"

"Leon! Is that his name! Leon Dudleigh! Well, whatever name he chooses
to bear, it is all the same; though it seems strange that he should
adopt a stainless name like that of Dudleigh."

"Yes, that is his name," said Mrs. Dunbar, wearily.

"Till he assumes some other," said Edith. "But they are all assumed
names," she continued, bitterly--"Mowbray and Dudleigh and Dunbar also,
no doubt. Why you should call yourself Dunbar I can't imagine. You seem
to me to be Mrs. Wiggins. Wiggins at least can not be an assumed name."

At these words, which were spoken on the spur of the moment, out of mere
hostility toward Mrs. Dunbar, and the desire to wound her, the latter
recoiled as though from some sudden blow, and looked at Edith with awful
eyes.

"You are terrible," she said, in a low voice--"you are terrible. You can
not imagine what horrors you give expression to."

To this Edith paid no attention. It sounded old. It was like what
Wiggins had frequently said to her.

"I can not imagine," she continued, "any human being so utterly
bad-hearted, so altogether vile and corrupt, as this man who now calls
himself Leon Dudleigh. In pure fiendish malignity, and in all those
qualities which are abhorrent and shameful, he surpasses even, that
arch-villain Wiggins himself."

"Stop, stop!" cried Mrs. Dunbar. "I can not bear this. You must not talk
so. How do you know! You know nothing about Leon. Oh, how you wrong him!
Leon has had bad associates, but he himself is not bad. After all, Leon
has naturally a noble heart. He was a brave, high-minded boy. Oh, if
you could but know what he once was. You wrong Leon. You wrong him most
deeply. Oh, how deeply you wrong him!"

Mrs. Dunbar had said all this in a kind of feverish agitation, speaking
quickly and vehemently. Never before had Edith seen any thing
approaching to excitement in this strong-hearted, vigilant-eyed,
self-contained woman, and the sight of such emotion amazed her. But for
this woman and her feelings she cared nothing whatever; and so in the
midst of her words she waved her hand and interrupted her.

"I'm tired," she said; "I can not stand any more excitement just now. I
wish to be alone."

At this. Mrs. Dunbar arose and walked wearily out of the room.

One thing at least Edith considered as quite evident front Mrs. Dunbar's
agitation and eager championship of "Leon," and that was that this Leon
had all along been a confederate of Wiggins and this woman, and that the
so-called "Lieutenant Dudleigh" had been one of the same band of
conspirators. It seemed evident now to her that the whole plot had been
contrived among them. Perhaps Wiggins was to get one half of the estate,
and this Leon Dudleigh the other half.

Still she did not feel altogether sure, and in order to ascertain as
near as possible the truth as to her present position and prospects, she
determined to see Wiggins himself.

* * * * *




CHAPTER XXX.


JAILER AND CAPTIVE.

On the following day Edith felt stronger, and calling Mrs. Dunbar, she
sent her to Wiggins with a request that the latter should meet her in
the drawing-room. She then walked through the long hall on her way down
stairs. Every thing looked as it did before her illness, except that one
change had taken place which arrested her attention the moment she
entered the drawing-room.

Over the chimney-piece a portrait had been hung--a portrait in a large
gilt frame, which looked as though it had been painted but recently. It
was a portrait of Leon Dudleigh. On catching sight of this she felt as
if she had been rooted to the spot. She looked at it for a short time
with compressed lips, frowning brow, and clinched hands after which she
walked away and flung herself into a chair.

Wiggins was evidently in no hurry, for it was more than half an hour
before he made his appearance. Edith sat in her chair, waiting for his
approach. The traces of her recent illness were very visible in the
pallor of her face, and in her thin, transparent hands. Her large eyes
seemed larger than ever, as they glowed luminously from their cavernous
depths, with a darker hue around each, as is often seen in cases of
sickness or debility, while upon her face there was an expression of
profound sadness that seemed fixed and unalterable.

But in the tone with which she addressed Wiggins there was nothing like
sadness. It was proud, cold, stern, and full of bitterest hostility.

"I have sent for you," she began, "because you, Wiggins, are concerned
as much as I myself am in the issue of this business about which I am
going to speak. I have suffered a very gross outrage, but I still have
confidence both in a just Heaven and in the laws of the land. This
ruffian, who now it seems calls himself Leon Dudleigh--your
confederate--has, with your assistance, cheated me into taking part in a
ceremony which he calls a marriage. What you propose to gain for
yourself by this I can not imagine; for it seems to me that it would
have been rather for your advantage to remain the sole master of your
ward than to help some one else to share your authority. But for your
purposes I care nothing--the evil is done. Yet if this Leon Dudleigh or
you think that I will sit tamely down under such an intolerable wrong,
you are miserably mistaken. Sooner or later I shall be avenged. Sooner
or later I shall gain my freedom, and then my turn shall come. I wish
you to see that there is danger before you; and I wish you also to
understand that it is for your interest to be my sole master, as you
were before. I have sent for you, then, to ask you, Wiggins, to expel
this man Leon Dudleigh from the house. Be my guardian again, and I will
be your ward. More: I agree to remain here in a state of passive
endurance for a reasonable time--one or two years, for instance; and I
promise during that time to make no complaint. Do this--drive this man
away--and you shall have no reason to regret it. On the other hand;
remember there is an alternative. Villain though this man is, I may come
to terms with him, and buy my liberty from him by giving him half of the
estate, or even the whole of it. In that case it seems to me that you
would lose every thing, for Leon Dudleigh is as great a villain as
yourself."

As Edith spoke, Wiggins listened most attentively. He had seated
himself not far from her, and after one look at her had fixed his eyes
on the floor. He waited patiently until she had said all she wished to
say. Edith herself had not hoped to gain much by this interview, but
she hoped at least to be able to discover something concerning the
nature of the partnership which she supposed to exist among her enemies,
and something perhaps about their plans. The averted face of Wiggins
seemed to her the attitude of conscious guilt; but she felt a little
puzzled at signs of emotion which he exhibited, and which seemed hardly
the result of conscious guilt. Once or twice a perceptible shudder
passed through his frame; his bent head bowed lower; he covered his face
with his hands; and at her last words there came from him a low moan
that seemed to indicate suffering.

"It's his acting," she thought. "I wonder what his next pretense will
be?"

Wiggins sat for some minutes without saying a word. When at length he
raised his head he did not look at Edith, but fastened his eyes on
vacancy, and went on to speak in a low voice.

"Your remarks," said he, "are all based on a misconception. This man is
no confederate of mine. I have no confederate. I--I work out my
purpose--by myself."

"I'm sure I wish that I could believe this," said Edith; "but
unfortunately Mrs. Dunbar espouses his cause with so much warmth and
enthusiasm that I am forced to conclude that this Leon Dudleigh must be
a very highly valued or very valuable friend to both of you."

"In this case," said Wiggins, "Mrs. Dunbar and I have different
feelings."

Instead of feeling gratified at this disclaimer of any connection with
Leon Dudleigh, Edith felt dissatisfied, and somewhat disconcerted. It
seemed to her that Wiggins was trying to baffle her and throw her off
the right track. She had hoped that by speaking out frankly her whole
mind she might induce him to come to some agreement with her; but by his
answers she saw that he was not in the least degree affected by her
warnings, or her threats, or her offers.

"This Leon Dudleigh," said she, "has all along acted sufficiently like a
confederate of yours to make me think that he is one."

"How?"

"By coming into these grounds at all times; by having privileges equal
in all respects to your own; by handing over those privileges to his spy
and emissary--the one who took the name of Lieutenant Dudleigh. Surely
all this is enough to make me think that he must be your confederate."

"You are altogether mistaken," said Wiggins, quietly.

"He told some idle story once," said Edith, anxious to draw more out of
Wiggins than these short answers, "about some power which he had over
you. He asserted that you were afraid of him. He said that you dared not
keep him out of the park. He said that his power over you arose from his
knowledge of certain past crimes of yours."

"When he said that," remarked Wiggins, "he said what was false."

"Why, then, did you allow him to come here?"

"I did so for reasons that I do not feel at liberty to explain--just
now. I will only say that the reasons were altogether different from
those which he stated."

Of this Edith did not believe a word; yet she felt completely baffled,
and did not know what to say to this man, who thus met all her
assertions with denials, and spoke in the calm, lofty tone of conscious
truth. But this, she thought, was only his "acting."

"I only hope that this is so," said she; "but supposing that it is so, I
should like very much to know what you feel disposed to do. The claim
that this man asserts over me is utterly false. It is a mockery. If he
is really not your confederate, you will see, I am sure, that it is not
for your own interest to sustain him in his attempt to maintain his
claim. I wish, therefore, to know exactly what it is that you feel
willing to do."

"Your situation," said Wiggins, "is a most unhappy one. I will do all
that I can to prevent it from becoming more so. If this man annoys you,
I will defend you against him, whatever it may cost."

This sounded well; yet still Edith was not satisfied. It seemed to her
too much like an empty promise which he had no idea of fulfilling.

"How will you defend me?" she asked. "This man lives here now. He
asserts that he has the right to do so. He has published what he calls
my marriage to him in the newspapers. He calls himself my husband. All
this is a wrong and an insult to me. His presence here is a perpetual
menace. When he is absent he leaves a reminder of himself," she
continued, in a more bitter tone, glancing toward the portrait. "Now I
wish to know what you will do. Will you prevent him from coming here?
Will you send him away, either in your name or in mine? You are easily
able to keep out my friends; will you keep out my enemies?"

"This man," said Wiggins, "shall soon give you no more trouble."

"Soon--what do you mean by soon?" asked Edith, impatiently.

"As soon as my plans will allow me to proceed to extremities with him."

"Your plans!" repeated Edith. "You are always bringing up your plans.
Whatever is concerned, you plead your plans. They form a sufficient
excuse for you to refuse the commonest justice. And yet what I ask is
certainly for your own interests."

"If you knew me better," said Wiggins, "you would not appeal to my
interests. I have not generally fashioned my life with regard to my own
advantage. Some day you will see this. You, at least, should be the last
one to complain of my plans, since they refer exclusively to the
vindication of your injured father."

"So you have said before," said Edith, coldly. "Those plans must be very
convenient, since you use them to excuse every possible act of yours."

"You will not have to wait long now," said Wiggins, in a weary voice, as
though this interview was too much for his endurance--"not very long. I
have heard to-day of something which is very favorable. Since the trial
certain documents and other articles have been kept by the authorities,
and an application has been made for these, with a view to the
establishment of your father's innocence. I have recently heard that the
application is about to be granted."

"You always answer my appeals for common justice," said Edith, with
unchanged coldness, "by some reference to my father. It seems to me
that if you had wished to vindicate his innocence, it would have been
better to do so while he was alive. If you had done so, it might have
been better for yourself in the end. But now these allusions are idle
and worse than useless. They have no effect on me whatever. I value them
at what they are worth."

With these words Edith rose and left the room. She returned to her own
apartments with a feeling of profound dejection and disappointment. Of
Wiggins she could make nothing. He promised, but his promises were too
vague to afford satisfaction.

Leon Dudleigh was away now, but would probably be back before long. As
she had failed with Wiggins, only one thing remained, and that was to
see Leon. She was resolved to meet him at once on his arrival, and
fight out once for all that battle which was inevitable between herself
and him.

* * * * *




CHAPTER XXXI.


THE IRREPRESSIBLE STRUGGLE.

About a month passed away, during which time Edith, in spite of her
troubles, grew stronger every day. Youth and a good, constitution were
on her side, and enabled her to rally rapidly from the prostration to
which she had been subjected.

At length one morning she learned that Leon had arrived at the Hall.
This news gave her great satisfaction, for she had been waiting long,
and felt anxious to see him face to face, to tell him her own mind, and
gather from him, if possible, what his intentions were. An interview
with him under such peculiar circumstances might have been painful had
she been less courageous or less self-possessed; but to one with such
lofty pride as hers, and filled as she was with such scorn of Leon, and
convinced as she was that he was at heart an arrant coward, such an
interview had nothing in it to deter her. Suspense was worse. She
wished to meet that man.

She sent word to him that she wished to see him, after which she went
down to the drawing-room and waited. Leon certainly showed no haste, for
it was as much as an hour before he made his appearance. On entering he
assumed that languid air which he had adopted on some of his former
visits. He looked carelessly at her, and then threw himself into a
chair.

"Really, Mrs. Dudleigh," said he, "this is an unexpected pleasure. 'Pon
my life, I had no idea that you would volunteer to do me so much honor!"

"I am not Mrs. Dudleigh," said Edith, "as you very well know. I am Miss
Dalton, and if you expect me to have any thing to say to you, you must
call me by my proper name. You will suffer dearly enough yet for your
crimes, and have no need to add to them."

"Now, my dear," said Leon, "that is kind and wife-like, and all that. It
reminds me of the way in which wives sometimes speak in the plays."

"Speak to me as Miss Dalton, or you shall not speak to me at all."

"It's quite evident," said Leon, with a sneer, "that you don't know into
whose hands you've fallen."

"On the contrary," said Edith, contemptuously, "it has been my fortune,
or my misfortune, to understand from the first both you and Wiggins."

Leon gave a light laugh.

"Your temper," said he, "has not improved much, at any rate. That's
quite evident. You have always shown a very peculiar idea of the way in
which a lady should speak to a gentleman."

"One would suppose by that," said Edith, "that you actually meant to
hint that you considered yourself a gentleman."

"So I am," said Leon, haughtily.

"As you have no particular birth or family," said Edith, in her most
insolent tone, "I suppose you must rest your claims to be a gentleman
altogether on your good manners and high-toned character."

"Birth and family!" exclaimed Leon, excitedly, "what do you know about
them! You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know nothing about you, certainly," said Edith. "I suppose you are
some mere adventurer."

Leon looked at her for a moment with a glance of intense rage; and as
she calmly returned his gaze, she noticed that peculiarity of his
frowning brow a red spot in the middle, with deep lines.

"You surely in your wildest dreams," said she, "never supposed that I
took you for a gentleman."

"Let me tell you," cried Leon, stammering in his passion "let me tell
you that I associate with the proudest in the land."

"I know that," replied Edith, quietly. "Am _I_ not here! But you
are only tolerated."

"Miss Dalton," cried Leon, "you shall suffer for this."

"Thank you," said Edith: "for once in your life you have spoken to me
without insulting me. You have called me by my right name. I could
smile at your threat under any circumstances, but now I can forgive it."

"It seems to me," growled Leon, "that you are riding the high horse
somewhat, and that this is a rather queer tone for you to assume toward
me."

"I always assume a high tone toward low people."

"Low people! What do you mean!" cried Leon, his face purple with rage.

"I really don't know any name better than that for you and your
friends."

"The name of Dudleigh," said Leon, "is one of the proudest in the land."

[Illustration: SHE CONFRONTED HIM WITH A COLD, STONY GLARE.]

"I swear by all that's holy that you are really my wife. The marriage
was a valid one. No law can break it. The banns were published in the
village church. All the villagers heard them. Wiggins kept himself shut
up so that he knew nothing about it. The clergyman is the vicar of
Dalton--the Rev. Mr. Munn. It has been, published in the papers. In the
eye of the law you are no longer Miss Dalton. you are Mrs. Leon
Dudleigh. You are my wife!"

At these words, in spite of Edith's pride and courage, there came over
her a dark fear that all this might indeed be as he said. The mention
of the published banns disturbed her, and shook that proud and obstinate
conviction which she had thus far entertained that the scene in the
chapel was only a brutal practical joke. It might be far more. It might
not be a mockery after all. It might be good in the eye of the
law--that law whose injustice had been shown to her in the terrible
experience of her father; and if this were so, what then?

A pang of anguish shot through her heart as this terrific thought
occurred. But the pang passed away, and with it the terror passed also.
Once more she called to her aid that stubborn Dalton fortitude and
Dalton pride which had thus far so well sustained her.

"_Your_ wife!" she exclaimed, with a loathing and a scorn in her
face and in her voice that words could not express, at the sight of
which even Leon, with all his insolence, was cowed--"_your_ wife!
Do you think you can affect me by lies like these?"

"Lies!" repeated Leon--"it's the truth. You are my wife, and you must
sign these papers."

"I don't think so," said Edith, resuming her former coolness.

"Do you dare to refuse me this?"

"I don't see any daring about it. Of course I refuse."

"Sign them!" roared Leon, with an oath.

Edith smiled lightly and turned away.

Leon rushed toward her with a menacing gesture. But Edith was aware of
this. In an instant she turned, snatched a dagger from her breast which
had been concealed there, and confronted him with a cold, stony glare.

"I well know," said she, "what an utter coward you are. While I have
this you will not dare to touch me. It is better for you, on the whole,
just now, that you are a coward, for this dagger--which, by-the-way, I
always carry--is poisoned. It is an old family affair--and that shows
you one of the advantages of having a family--and so deadly is the
poison that a scratch would kill you. Yes, there is some advantage in
being a coward, for if you dared to touch me, I should strike you with
this as I would strike a mad dog!"

Leon stood before her, a coward, as she knew and as she said, not daring
to come within reach of her terrible weapon, which she upheld with a
deadly purpose plainly visible in her eye. Yet it seemed as though,
with his great muscular power, he might easily have grasped that slender
arm and wrenched the dagger away. But this was a thing which he did not
dare to attempt; the risk was too great. He might have received a
scratch in the struggle with that young girl who confronted him so
steadily, and who, with all her fragile beauty, was so calm, so proud,
and so resolute.

Edith waited for a few moments, and then walked quietly away, trusting
implicitly to Leon's cowardice, and without another word, or even
another look, she left the room and returned to her own apartments.

* * * * *




CHAPTER XXXII.


A FIGHT IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP

It will have been seen already that Leon had taken up his abode at
Dalton Hall immediately after that marriage ceremony as the husband of
Edith. Her illness had hitherto prevented him from having any
understanding with her, and his own affairs called him away before her
recovery. With Wiggins he remained on the same footing as before; nor
did he find himself able to alter that footing in the slightest degree.
Whatever Wiggins may have thought or felt on the subject of the
marriage, he revealed it to no one; and Leon found himself compelled to
wait for Edith's recovery before he could accomplish any thing definite
with regard to his own position. On his return, to Dalton Hall he
learned that she was convalescent, and he was much surprised at her
immediate request for an interview.

With the result of that interview he had but little reason to be
satisfied. He felt disappointed, enraged, and humiliated. Edith had
been perfectly free from all fear of him. The young girl had shown
herself a virago. His insults she had returned with mocking sarcasms,
his threats she had treated with utter contempt, and finally she had
proved him to his own face to be a coward. Over the recollection of
that scene he could only gnash his teeth in fruitless rage. The more he
thought of that interview, the more bitter grew his mortification; and
at length he resolved to force matters to a climax at once by coming to
a distinct and final understanding with Wiggins himself.

Leon had enjoyed the freedom of the house long enough to know where
Wiggins's room was, and into that room he intruded himself abruptly on
the following day. It was in this room that Wiggins spent the greater
part of his time, carrying on a vigorous though not very extensive
correspondence, and moving the wires of those plans at which he had
hinted to Edith. He was here now, and as Leon entered he looked up with
a silent stare.

"I'll not stand this any longer," burst forth Leon, abruptly and
vehemently. "I'm in terrible difficulties. I've been waiting long
enough. You must side with me actively, for your assistance is
absolutely necessary to bring that mad girl to terms. I'm married to
her. She's my wife. I must have control of this place at once; and I'll
tolerate no farther opposition from her, or humbug from you. I've come
now to tell you this finally and peremptorily."

"She is not your wife," said Wiggins, coldly.

"She is."

"It was a trick. The ceremony was a miserable sham."

"It was no sham. It was done legally, and can not be undone."

"Legally! Pooh! The whole thing was a farce. It's no marriage.
Legally! Why, what has that miserable affair to do with the law?"

"What has it to do? It has every thing to do. The whole thing was done
in a perfectly legal manner. The banns were regularly published by the
vicar of Dalton in Dalton Church, and in that chapel Edith Dalton was
regularly and legally married to Leon Dudleigh by the Rev. Mr. Munn.
What more is wanting to make it legal? Go and ask Mr. Munn himself."