John Lothrop Motley - "The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1566"

Ralph Henry Barbour - "The New Boy at Hilltop"

Marcus Tullius Cicero - "Letters of Cicero"

George Bernard Shaw - "Overruled"

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Books: The Living Link

J >> James De Mille >> The Living Link




"The banns!" exclaimed Wiggins.

"Yes, the banns," said Leon. "You never heard of that, perhaps. If you
doubt me, go and ask Munn."

"It was not you that she married!" cried Wiggins, after a pause, in
which he seemed struck rather painfully by Leon's last information. "It
was not you--it was that other one. He called himself Dudleigh--a
miserable assumed name!"

"You know nothing about it," said Leon, "whether it was assumed or not.
And as to the marriage, it was to me. I held her hand; I put the ring
on her finger; she married me, and no other. But I'm not going to talk
about that. I've simply come here to insist on your active help. I
won't stand any more of this humbug. I've already told you that I know
you."

Wiggins remained silent for some time.

"So you did," said he at last, in a low voice; "but what of that?"

"Why, only this: you had to let me do what I chose. And I intend to
keep a good hold of you yet, my fine fellow."

Wiggins placed both his elbows on the table in front of him, and looked
fixedly at Leon for some time.

"You did say once," said he, slowly, "that you knew me, and the
possibility that it might be true induced me to tolerate you here for
some time. I trusted to Miss Dalton's innate good sense to save her from
any danger from one like you; but it appears that I was mistaken. At the
present moment, however, I may as well inform you that you have not the
slightest idea who I am, and more than this, that I have not the
slightest objection to tell you."

"Pooh!" said Leon, with ill-disguised uneasiness, "it's all very well
for you to take that tone, but it won't do with me. I know who you are."

"Who am I?"

"Oh, I know."

"Who? who? Say it! If you did know, you would not imagine that you had
any power over me. Your power is a dream, and your knowledge of me is a
sham. Who am I?"

"Why," said Leon, with still greater uneasiness and uncertainty in his
face and voice, "you are not John Wiggins."

"Who do you think I am?" asked Wiggins.

"Who? who? Why, you came from Australia."

"Well, what of that?"

"Well, you are some convict who got acquainted with Dalton out there,
and have come back here to try to get control of these estates."

"But how could I do that? If this were so, do you suppose that Wiggins
of Liverpool would allow it?"

"Oh, he has a share in the business. He goes halves with you, perhaps."

"If he wanted any shares at all in such a transaction, he might have
all, and therefore he would be a fool to take half. Your theory, I
infer, is somewhat lame. And what of Mrs. Dunbar? Is she an Australian
convict too?"

"Mrs. Dunbar?--who is she? What! that crazy housekeeper? She looks as
though she may have just been released from some lunatic asylum."

Wiggins made no immediate reply, and sat for a few moments in thought.
Then he looked at Leon and said:

"Well, you have got hold of a part of the truth--just enough to mislead
you. It is true that I have been in Australia, though why you should
suppose that I was a convict I do not know. More: I went out there on
account of Dalton, and for no other reason. While there I saw much of
him, and gained his whole confidence. He told me his whole story
unreservedly. He believed me to be his friend. He confided every thing
to me. You must have heard of his trial, and his strange persistence in
refusing to say who the guilty party was."

"Oh yes," said Leon, with a laugh. "A good idea that, when the guilty
party was himself."

"It was not himself," said Wiggins, "and before long the world shall
know who it was, for that is the one business of my life since my
return, to which I have sacrificed all other concerns. In my attention
to this I have even neglected Miss Dalton."

"She does not appear to think that you have neglected her," said Leon,
with a sneer.

To this Wiggins paid no attention.

"Dalton," said he, "told me all before he died. He thought of his
daughter, and though he had suffered himself, yet he thought on his
death-bed that it would be a sin to leave to her such a legacy of shame.
It was this that broke his obstinate silence, and made him tell his
secret to me. And here, Leon Dudleigh, is a thing in which you are
concerned.

"I!" exclaimed Leon, in astonishment, not unmingled with alarm.

"I will tell you presently. I will simply remark now that I am
following out his wishes, and am working for Miss Dalton, as he himself
would have worked, to redeem her name."

"The name is hers no longer," said Leon.

"She seems to give you a precious hard time of it too, I should say, and
does not altogether appreciate your self-denying and wonderfully
disinterested efforts."

"I have not treated her with sufficient consideration," said Wiggins. "I
misunderstood her character. I began altogether wrong. I see now that
I ought to have given her more of my confidence, or, better yet, that I
ought not to have brought her here till the work was done. Well," he
added, with a sigh, "my chief consolation is that it will be all right
in the end."

"This is all rubbish," said Leon. "You are not what you pretend to be.
You are not her guardian. You are an interloper and a swindler. You
shall remain here no longer. I am her husband, and I order you off the
premises at once."

"You are not her husband, and I am her guardian," said Wiggins, calmly.
"I was appointed by her father on his death-bed."

"I don't believe it. Besides, your name is not Wiggins at all."

"How do you know? You know nothing."

[Illustration: DOTARD! DO YOU TALK OF VENGEANCE?]

"I know Wiggins."

"Wiggins of Liverpool, perhaps, but there are more Wigginses in the
world than that."

"A court of law will show that--"

"You will not go to a court of law. That is my task. And mark me,"
continued Wiggins, with thrilling emphasis, "when a court of law takes
up the subject of the Dalton estates or the Dalton name, then it will be
the turn for you and yours to tremble."

"Tremble!" exclaimed Leon, scornfully.

"Yes," repeated Wiggins. "Your father--"

"Pooh!" said Leon.

"When Dalton died," continued Wiggins, "he left his papers. Among them
was a letter of which he himself told me. If he had produced that
letter on his trial, he would have escaped, and the guilty man would
have been punished. The letter was written by the real forger. It
inclosed the forged check to Dalton, asking him to draw the money and
pay certain pressing debts. The writer of that letter was your own
father--Lionel Dudleigh!"

"It's a lie!" cried Leon, starting up, with terrible excitement in his
face--an excitement, too, which was mingled with unspeakable dread.

"It's true," said Wiggins, calmly, "and the letter can be proved."

"It can not."

"It can, and by the best of testimony."

"I don't believe it."

"Perhaps not; but there is something more. With the murder trial you
are no doubt familiar. In fact, I take it for granted that you are
familiar with Dalton's case _in all its bearings_," added Wiggins,
in a tone of deep meaning. "In that murder trial, then, you are aware
that a Maltese cross was found on the scene of murder, and created much
excitement. You know what part it had in the trial. I now inform you
that I have proof which can show beyond a doubt that this Maltese cross
was the property of your father--Lionel Dudleigh."

"It's a lie--an infernal lie!" said Leon, in a hoarse voice. His
excitement had now become terrible.

"It's true--all true," continued Wiggins. "It can all be proved by a
witness that can not be impeached. Yes, Leon Dudleigh, you yourself
would be forced to accept the testimony of that witness."

"What witness?" said Leon, in a voice that was scarcely audible from
conflicting emotions.

Wiggins looked at him earnestly, and then said, in a low, deep, solemn
voice,

"Leon Dudleigh, that witness is _your mother!_"

The other started as though he had been shot.

"My mother!" he almost screamed--"my mother! why, she--she is
dead--dead long ago."

"When did you find that out?" said Wiggins.

"She's dead! she's dead!" repeated Leon, as though by assertion he could
make it true.

"She is not dead," said Wiggins, in an awful voice, "though all these
years she has lived a living death. She is not dead. She is alive, and
she now stands ready, when the hour comes, though with an agonized
heart, to give that testimony which, years ago, she dared not and could
not give. She has allowed the innocent to suffer, and the guilty to go
free, but now she will do so no longer. The work upon which I have been
engaged is almost complete. The preparations are made, and this very day
I am going to Liverpool to perform the last acts that are necessary
toward vindicating the memory of Dalton, establishing his innocence, and
punishing the guilty. As for you, you can do nothing here, and I have
resolved to punish you for what you have done. I shall show you no
mercy. If you want to save yourself, leave the country, for otherwise I
swear you will never be safe from my vengeance."

"Vengeance!" said Leon, in low, menacing tones. "Dotard! do _you_
talk of vengeance? You do not understand the meaning of that word. Wait
till you see what I can do."

And with these words he left the room.

That evening Wiggins left for Liverpool.

* * * * *




CHAPTER XXXIII.


THE HUSBAND'S LAST APPEAL.

Early on the following day Edith received a request from Leon for
another interview. This request was acceptable in every way, for the
last interview had been no more satisfactory to her than to him, and she
could not help hoping that something more definite might result from a
new one. She therefore went down, and found him already in the room.

On this occasion Leon showed nothing of that languor which he had
previously affected. He appeared, on the contrary, uneasy, nervous, and
impatient. So abstracted was he by his own thoughts that he did not
notice her entrance. She sat down and waited for a little while, after
which she said, quietly,

"Did you wish to see me, Captain--a--Dudleigh?" Leon started, then
frowned; then, after a little silence, he began abruptly:

"You may deny it as much as you choose, but it's no use. You are
actually married to me. You are really and truly my wife, both in the
eyes of man and in the eyes of the law. From that marriage nothing can
ever deliver you but a divorce."

"You are mistaken," said Edith, quietly. "Even if that miserable
performance should turn out to be a marriage--which is absurd--still
there is one other thing that can free me."

"Ah?--and what may that be?"

"Death!" said Edith, solemnly.

Leon turned pale. "Is that a threat?" he asked at length, in a trembling
voice. "Whose death do you mean?"

Edith made no reply.

"Yes," said Leon, after a pause, going on with his former train of
thought, "at any rate you are my wife, and you can not help it. You may
deny it as much as you please, but that will not avail. In spite of
this, however, I do not molest you, although I might so easily do it. I
never trouble you with my presence. I am very forbearing. Few would do
as I do. Yet I have rights, and some of them, at least, I am determined
to assert. Now, on the whole, it is well for you--and you ought to see
it--that you have one here who occupies the peculiar position toward you
which I do. If it were not for me you would be altogether in the power
of Wiggins. He is your guardian or your jailer, whichever you choose to
call him. He could shut you up in the vaults of Dalton Hall if he
chose--and he probably will do that very thing before long--for who is
there to prevent him? I am the only one who can stand between you and
him. I am your only hope. You do not know who and what this man is. You
think you know him, but you don't. You think of him as a villain and a
tyrant. Let me tell you that in your bitterest hate of that man you have
never begun to conceive the fraction of his villainy. Let me tell you
that he is one who passes your comprehension. Let me tell you that,
however much you may hate me, if I were to tell you what Wiggins is, the
feelings that you have toward me would be almost affection, compared to
those which you would have toward him."

Leon paused. He had spoken most earnestly and vehemently; but upon Edith
these words produced no effect. She believed that this was a last effort
to work upon her feelings by exciting her fears of Wiggins. She did not
believe him capable of speaking the truth to her, and thus his words
produced no result.

"If you had not been married to me when you were," continued Leon, "I
solemnly assure you that by this time you would have been where hope
could never reach you."

"Well, really," said Edith, "Captain--a--Dudleigh, all this is
excessively childish. By such an absurd preamble as this you, of
course, must mean something. All this, however, can have no possible
effect on me, for the simple reason that I consider it spoken for
effect. I hope, therefore, that you will be kind enough to come at once
to business, and say precisely what it is that you want of me."

"It is no absurd preamble," said Leon, gloomily. "It is not nonsense, as
I could soon show you. There is no human being who has done so much
wrong to you and yours as this Wiggins, yet you quietly allow him to be
your guardian."

"I?" said Edith. "I allow him? Let me be free, and then you will see
how long I allow him."

"But I mean here--in Dalton Hall."

"I do not allow him any thing. I am simply a prisoner. He is my jailer,
and keeps me here."

"You need not be so."

"Pray how can I escape?"

"By siding with me."

"With you?" asked Edith--"and what then?"

"Well, if you side with me I will drive him out."

"You seem incapable of understanding," said Edith, "that of the two, you
yourself, both by nature and by position, are by far the more abhorrent
to me. Side with you! And is this the proposal you have to make?"

"I tell you that you are in no danger from me, and that you are from
him."

"Really, as far as danger is concerned, my prospects with Wiggins are
far preferable to my prospects with you."

"But you don't know him. He has done terrible things--deeds of horror."

"And you--what have you done? But perhaps I have mistaken you. When you
ask me to side with you, you may perhaps mean that I shall be at
liberty, and that when you expel Wiggins you will allow me to go also."

At this Leon looked down in evident embarrassment.

"Well--not--yet," he said, slowly. "In time, of course; but it can not
all be done just at once, you know."

"What can not be done at once?"

"Your--your freedom."

"Why not?"

"Well, there are--a--certain difficulties in the way."

"Then what can I gain by siding with you? Why should I cast off Wiggins,
and take a new jailer who has done to me a wrong far more foul and far
more intolerable than any that Wiggins ever attempted?"

"But you mistake me. I intend to let you go free, of course--that is, in
time."

"In time!"

"Yes; every thing can not be done in a moment."

"This is mere childishness. You are trifling. I am astonished that you
should speak in this way, after what you know of me."

"But I tell you I will set you free--only I can not do that until I get
what I want."

"And what is it that you want?"

"Why, what I married you for."

"What is that?"

"Money," said Leon, abruptly.

"Money," repeated Edith, in surprise.

"Yes, money," said Leon, harshly.

"You must really apply to Wiggins, then," said she, carelessly.

"No; you yourself are the only one to whom I must apply."

"To me? I have no money whatever. It is of no use for me to inform you
that Wiggins is all-powerful here. I thought by your professed knowledge
of his wonderful secrets that you had some great power over him, and
could get from him whatever you want."

"Never mind what you thought," growled Leon. "I come to you, and you
only, and I ask you for money."

"How can _I_ give it?"

"By signing your name to a paper, a simple paper, which I can use. Your
signature is necessary to effect what I wish."

"My signature? Ah! And what possible inducement can you offer me for my
signature?"

"Why, what you most desire."

"What? My freedom?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Will you drive me to the village at once?"

Leon hesitated.

"Well, not just at once, you know. You must remain here a short time,
and go through certain formalities and routine work, and attest certain
things before a lawyer."

Edith smiled.

"What a simpleton you must still think me! How easy you must think it is
to impose upon me! Perhaps you think me so credulous, or so much in the
habit of confiding in you, that no such thing as doubt ever enters my
mind."

Leon glared angrily at her.

"I tell you I must have it," he cried, in excited tones. "I must have
it--by fair means or foul."

"But of the two ways I _presume_ you have a preference for the
latter," said Edith.

"I tell you I must and will have it," reiterated Leon.

"I don't see how you can get my signature very well--unless you forge
it; but then I suppose that will not stand in your way."

"Now by all that is most holy," cried Leon, vehemently, "you make me
hate you even worse than I hate Wiggins."

"Really, these feelings of yours are a subject in which I do not take
the smallest interest."

"I tell you," cried Leon, struggling to repress his rage, "if you sign
this paper you shall be free."

"Let me be free first, and then I will think about it."

"If you get free you'll refuse to sign," said Leon.

"But if I were to sign first I should never be free."

"You shall be free. I promise you on the honor of a gentleman," cried
Leon, earnestly.

"I'm afraid," said Edith, in a tone of quiet contempt, "that the
security is of too little value."

Leon looked at her with fury in his eyes.

"You are driving me to the most desperate measures," he cried.

"It seems to me that your measures have all along been as desperate as
they well can be."

"I swear by all that's holy," thundered Leon, "that I'll tame you yet.
I'll bring you into subjection."

"Ah! then in that case," said Edith, "my comfort will be that the
subjection can not last long."

"Will it not ?" asked Leon.

"No, it will not, as you very well know," said Edith, in cold, measured
tones, looking steadfastly at him with what seemed like a certain solemn
warning. She rose as she said this, still looking at Leon, while he
also rose in a state of vehement excitement.

"What do you meant" he cried. "You look as blood-thirsty as an
assassin."

"I may yet become one," said Edith, gloomily, "if this lasts much
longer. You have eyes, but you will not see. You treat me like some
silly, timid child, while I have all the time the spirit of a man. This
can only end in one way. Some one must die!"

Leon looked at her in astonishment. Her voice and her look showed that
she was in earnest, but the fragile beauty of her slender form seemed to
belie the dark meaning of her words.

"I came with a fair offer," said he, in a voice hoarse with passion.

"You!" said Edith, in cold scorn; "you with a fair offer! Fairness and
honor and justice and truth, and all such things, are altogether unknown
to such as you."

At this Leon frowned that peculiar frown of his, and gnawed his mustache
in his rage.

"I have spared you thus far," said he--"I have spared you; but now, by
Heaven, you shall feel what it is to have a master!"

"You!" she cried--"you spared me? If I have escaped any injury from you,
it has been through my own courage and the cowardice of your own heart.
You my master! You will learn a terrible lesson before you become
that!"

"I have spared you," cried Leon, now beside himself with rage--"I have
spared you, but I will spare you no longer. After this you shall know
that what I have thus far done is as nothing to that which is yet before
you."

"What you have done!" said Edith, fixing her great wrathful eyes more
sternly upon Leon, with a look of deadly menace, and with burning
intensity of gaze, and speaking in a low tone that was tremulous with
repressed indignation--"what you have done! Let me tell you, Captain
Dudleigh, your heart's blood could never atone for the wrongs you have
done me! Beware, Sir, how you drive me to desperation. You little know
what I have in my mind to do. You have made me too familiar with the
thought of death!"

At these words Leon stared at her in silence. He seemed at last to
understand the full possibility of Edith's nature, and to comprehend
that this one whom he threatened was capable, in her despair, of making
all his threats recoil on his own head: He said nothing, and in a few
moments afterward she left the room.

As she went out of the door she encountered Hugo. He started as she
came noiselessly upon him. He had evidently been listening to all that
had been said. At this specimen of the way in which she was watched,
though it really showed her no more than what she had all along known,
there arose in Edith's mind a fresh sense of helplessness and of peril.

* * * * *

[Illustration: EDITH SET TO WORK. ]




CHAPTER XXXIV.


THE FUGITIVE AND THE PURSUER.

On returning to her own room from that interview with Leon, Edith sat
for a long time involved in thought. It was evident to her now that her
situation was one full of frightful peril. The departure of Wiggins, of
which she was aware, seemed to afford additional danger. Between him
and Leon there had been what seemed to her at least the affectation of
dislike or disagreement, but now that he was gone there remained no one
who would even pretend to interpose between herself and her enemy. Even
if Mrs. Dunbar had been capable of assisting her against Leon, Edith
knew that no reliance could be placed upon her, for she had openly
manifested a strong regard for him.

This departure of Wiggins, which thus seemed to make her present
position more perilous, seemed also to Edith to afford her a better
opportunity than any she had known since her arrival of putting into
execution her long-meditated project of flight. True, there was still
the same difficulty which had been suggested once before--the want of
money--but Edith was now indifferent to this. The one thing necessary
was to escape from her new perils. If she could but get out of the
Dalton grounds, she hoped to find some lawyer who might take up her
cause, and allow her enough to supply her modest wants until that cause
should be decided. But liberty was the one thought that eclipsed all
others in her estimation; and if she could but once effect her escape
from this horrible place, it seemed to her that all other things would
be easy.

The present appeared to be beyond all others the fitting time, for
Wiggins was away, and it seemed to her that in his absence the watch
over her would probably be relaxed. Her long illness would of itself
have thrown them to some extent off their guard, and render her purpose
unsuspected. By this time it would doubtless be forgotten that she had
once left the Hall by night, and it was not likely that any precaution
would be taken against a second flight on the part of one so weak as she
was supposed to be. A few days before she had made a stealthy visit to
that door, and had found, to her great relief, that no additional
fastenings had been put there. Her illness had evidently rendered any
such precaution unnecessary for the time; and since her recovery Wiggins
had no doubt been too much occupied with other things to think of this.

Now was the time, then, for flight. The danger was greater than ever
before, and the opportunity for escape better. Leon was master in the
house. The other inmates were simply his creatures. Leon Dudleigh, as he
called himself, claimed to be her husband. He asserted that claim
insolently and vehemently. She had defied him, but how long would she be
able to maintain that defiant attitude? How long could her frail
strength sustain her in a life of incessant warfare like this, even if
her spirit should continue to be as indomitable as ever? The scene of
this day, and her last parting with him, made the danger seem so
imminent that it nerved her resolution, and made her determine at all
hazards to attempt her escape that night.

But how should she escape?

Not for the first time did this question occur. For a long time she had
been brooding over it, and as she had thought it over she had devised a
plan which seemed to hold out to her some prospect of success.

In the first place, it was evident that she would have to climb over the
wall. To obtain any key by which she could open the gates was
impossible. She could find none that were at all likely to do so;
besides, she was afraid that even if she had a key, the attempt to
unlock the gates might expose her to detection and arrest by the
watchful porter. The wall, therefore, was her only hope.

Now that wall could not be climbed by her unassisted strength, but she
knew that if she had any sort of a ladder it might easily be done. The
question that arose, then, was how to procure this ladder. A wooden one
could not be of any service, for she could not carry it so far, and she
saw plainly that her attempt must be made by means of some sort of a
rope-ladder.