Mary C.E. Wemyss - "The Professional Aunt"

Ivan Turgenev - "On the Eve"

William R. Shepherd - "The Hispanic Nations of the New World"

Samuel Butler - "Luck or Cunning?"

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




And thus, where there was so much need of mutual forgiveness and mutual
consolation, each one became less a prey to remorse.

In the joy which he felt at thus gaining at last all his daughter's
love, especially after the terrible misunderstanding that had divided
her from him, Dalton had no thought for those grave dangers which
surrounded both her and him. But to Edith these dangers still appeared,
and they were most formidable. She could not forget that she was still
liable to arrest on the most appalling of accusations, and that her
father also was liable to discovery and re-arrest. Reginald had tried
to banish her fears and inspire her with hope; but now that he was no
longer near, her position was revealed, and the full possibility of her
danger could no longer be concealed.

Danger there indeed was, danger most formidable, not to her only, but to
all of them. Coward Sir Lionel might be, but a coward when at bay is
dangerous, since he is desperate. Sir Lionel also was powerful, since
he was armed with all the force that may be given by wealth and
position, and in his despair his utmost resources would undoubtedly be
put forth. Those despairing efforts would be aimed at all of them--all
were alike threatened: herself on the old charge, her father as an
escaped convict, and Reginald as a perjurer and a conspirator against
the ends of justice. As to Lady Dudleigh, she knew not what to think,
but she was aware of Reginald's fears about her and she shared them to
the fullest extent.

In the midst of all this Edith received letter from Miss Plympton. She
was just recovering, she said, from a severe illness, consequent on
anxiety about her. She had heard the terrible tidings of her arrest,
but of late had been cheered by the news of her release. The letter was
most loving, and revealed all the affection of her "second mother." Yet
so true was Miss Plympton to the promise which she had made to Mr.
Dalton, that she did not allude to the great secret which had once been
disclosed to her.

Edith read the letter with varied feelings, and thought with an aching
heart of her reception of that other letter. This letter, however, met
with a different fate. She answered it at once, and told all about her
father, concluding with the promise to go and visit her as soon as she
could.

And now all her thoughts and hopes were centred upon Reginald. Where
was he? Where was Lady Dudleigh? Had he found Leon? What would Sir
Lionel do? Such were the thoughts that never ceased to agitate her
mind.

He had been gone a whole week. She had heard nothing from him.
Accustomed as she had been to see him every day for so long a time, this
week seemed prolonged to the extent of a month; and as he had promised
to write her under any circumstances, she could not account for his
failure to keep that promise. His silence alarmed her. As day
succeeded to day, and still no letter came, she became a prey to all
those fearful fancies which may be raised by a vivid imagination, when
one is in suspense about the fate of some dearly loved friend.

Her father, whose watchful love made him observant of every one of her
varying moods, could not avoid noticing the sadness and agitation of her
face and manner, and was eager to know the cause. This, however,
Edith's modesty would not allow her to explain, but she frankly
confessed that she was anxious. Her anxiety she attributed to her fears
about their situation, and her dread lest something might be found out
about the imposture of Reginald, or about her father's real character
and personality. The fear was not an idle one, and Dalton, though he
tried to soothe her, was himself too well aware of the danger that
surrounded both of them to be very successful in his efforts.

All this time a steady improvement had been taking place in Dalton's
health, and his recovery from his illness was rapid and continuous. It
was Edith's love and care and sympathy which thus gave strength to him,
and the joy which he felt in her presence was the best medicine for his
afflictions.

Thus one day he was at last able to venture outside. It was something
more than a week since Reginald had left. Edith was more anxious than
ever, but strove to conceal her anxiety and to drown her own selfish
cares under more assiduous attentions to that father whose whole being
now seemed so to centre upon her. For this purpose she had persuaded
him to leave the Hall, and come forth into the grounds; and the two were
now walking in front of the Hall, around the pond, Edith supporting her
father's feeble footsteps, and trying to cheer him by pointing out some
improvements which ought to be made, while the old man, with his mind
full of sweet peace, thought it happiness enough for him to lean on her
loving arm and hear her sweet voice as she spoke those words of love
which for so many years he had longed to hear.

In the midst of this they were startled by the approach of several men.

Visitors were rare at Dalton Hall. Before the recent troubles they had
been prohibited, and though during Dalton's illness the prohibition had
been taken off, yet there were few who cared to pass those gates. Upon
this occasion the approach of visitors gave a sudden shock to Edith and
her father, and when they saw that the chief one among those visitors
was the sheriff, that shock was intensified.

Yes, the moment had come which they both had dreaded. All was known.
The danger which they had feared was at hand, and each one trembled for
the other. Edith thought that it was her father who was sought after.
Dalton shuddered as he thought that his innocent daughter was once more
in the grasp of the law.

The sheriff approached, followed by three others, who were evidently
officers of the law. Dalton and Edith stood awaiting them, and Edith
felt her father's hands clasp her arm in a closer and more tremulous
embrace.

The sheriff greeted them with a mournful face and evident embarrassment.
His errand was a painful one, and it was rendered doubly so by the
piteous sight before him--the feeble old man thus clinging to that
sad-faced young girl, the woe-worn father thus supported by the daughter
whose own experience of life had been so bitter.

"My business," said the sheriff, "is a most painful one. Forgive me,
Mrs. Dudleigh. Forgive me, Mr. Dalton. I did not know till now how
painful it would be."

He had greeted them in silence, removing his hat respectfully, and
bowing before this venerable old age and this sad-faced beauty, and then
had said these words with some abruptness. And as soon as he named that
name "Dalton," they both understood that he knew all.

"You have come for me?" said Dalton. "Very well."

A shudder passed through Edith. She flung her arms about her father,
and placed herself before him, as if to interpose between him and that
terrible fate which still pursued its innocent victim. She turned her
large mournful eyes upon the sheriff with a look of silent horror, but
said not a word.

"I can not help it," said the sheriff, in still deeper embarrassment.
"I feel for you, for both of yon, but you must come with me."

"Oh, spare him!" cried Edith. "He is ill. He has just risen from his
bed. Leave him here. He is not fit to go. Let me nurse him."

The sheriff looked at her in increasing embarrassment, with a face full
of pity.

"I am deeply grieved," he said, in a low voice, "but I can not do
otherwise. I must do my duty. You, Mrs. Dudleigh, must come also. I
have a warrant for you too."

"What!" groaned Dalton; "for her?"

The sheriff said nothing. The old man's face had such an expression of
anguish that words were useless.

"Again!" murmured Dalton. "Again! and on that false charge! She will
die! she will die!"

"Oh, papa!" exclaimed Edith. "Do not think of me. I can bear it.
There is no danger for me. It is for you only that I am anxious."

"My child! my darling Edith!" groaned the unhappy father, "this is my
work--this is what I have wrought for you."

Edith pressed her father to her heart. She raised her pale face, and,
looking upward, sighed out in her agony of soul,

"O God! Is there any justice in heaven, when this is the justice of
earth!"

Nothing more was said. No one had any thing to say. This double arrest
was something too terrible for words, and the darkest forebodings came
to the mind of each one of these unhappy victims of the law. And thus,
in silence and in fear, they were led away--to prison and to judgment.

* * * * *




CHAPTER LIII.


THE BROTHERS.

On leaving Dalton Hall Reginald went to the place mentioned by Miss
Fortescue. It was on the railway, and was about four miles from
Dudleigh Manor. Here he found Miss Fortescue.

She told him that she had tried to find Leon by making inquiries every
where among his old haunts, but without any success whatever. At last
she concluded that, since he was in such strict hiding, Dudleigh Manor
itself would not be an unlikely place in which to find him. She had
come here, and, after disguising herself with her usual skill, had made
inquiries of the porter with as much adroitness as possible. All her
efforts, however, were quite in vain. The porter could not be caught
committing himself in any way, but professed to have seen nothing of the
missing man for months. She would have come away from this experiment in
despair had it not been for one circumstance, which, though small in
itself, seemed to her to have very deep meaning. It was this. While she
was talking with the porter a dog came up, which at once began to fawn
on her. This amazed the porter, who did not like the appearance of
things, and tried to drive the dog away. But Miss Fortescue had in an
instant recognized the dog of Leon, well known to herself, and once a
great pet.

This casual appearance of the dog seemed to her the strongest possible
proof that Leon was now in that very place. He must have been left
purposely in Dalton Park for a few days, probably having been stationed
at that very spot which he kept so persistently. If so, the same one who
left him there must have brought him here. It was inconceivable that the
dog could have found his way here alone from Dalton Park. In addition to
this, the porter's uneasiness at the dog's recognition of her was of
itself full of meaning.

This was all that she had been able to find out, but this was enough.
Fearful that Leon might suspect who she was, she had written to Reginald
at once; and now that he had come, she urged him to go to Dudleigh Manor
himself and find out the truth.

There was no need to urge Reginald. His anxiety about his mother was
enough to make him anxious to lose no time, but the prospect of finding
Leon made him now doubly anxious. It was already evening however, and he
would have to defer his visit until the following day.

At about nine o'clock the next morning Reginald Dudleigh stood at his
father's gate--the gate of that home from which he had been so long an
exile. The porter came out to open it, and stared at him in surprise.

"I didn't know you was out, Sir," he said.

Evidently the porter had mistaken him for Leon. This address assured him
of the fact of Leon's presence. The porter was a new hand, and Reginald
did not think it worth while to explain. He entered silently while the
porter held the gate open, and then walked up the long avenue toward the
manor-house.

The door was open. He walked in. Some servants were moving about, who
seemed think his presence a matter of course. These also evidently
mistook him for Leon; and these things, slight as they were, assured him
that his brother must be here. Yet in spite of the great purpose for
which he had come--a purpose, as he felt, of life and death, and even
more--in spite of this, he could not help pausing for a moment as he
found himself within these familiar precincts, in the home of his
childhood, within sight of objects so well remembered, so long lost to
view.

But it was only for a few moments. The first rush of feeling passed, and
then there came back the recollection of all that lay before him, of all
that depended upon this visit. He walked on. He reached the great
stairway. He ascended it. He came to the great hall up stairs. On one
side was the drawing-room, on the other the library. The former was
empty, but in the latter there was a solitary occupant. He was seated at
a table, writing. So intent was this man in his occupation that he did
not hear the sound of approaching footsteps, or at least did not regard
them; for even as Reginald stood looking at him, he went on with his
writing. His back was turned toward the door, so that Reginald could not
see his face, but the outline of the figure was sufficient. Reginald
stood for a moment looking at him. Then he advanced toward the writer,
and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

The writer gave a sudden start, leaped from his chair, and turned round.
There was fear on his face--the fear of one who is on the look-out for
sudden danger--a fear without a particle of recognition. But gradually
the blankness of his terrified face departed, and there came a new
expression--an expression in which there was equal terror, yet at the
same time a full recognition of the danger before him.

It was Leon Dudleigh.

Reginald said not one word, but looked at him with a stern, relentless
face.

As these two thus stood looking at one another, each saw in the other's
face the marvelous resemblance to himself, which had been already so
striking to others, and so bewildering. But the expression was totally
different. Aside from the general air characteristic of each, there was
the look that had been called up by the present meeting. Reginald
confronted his brother with a stern, menacing gaze, and a look of
authority that was more than the ordinary look which might belong to an
elder brother. Leon's face still kept its look of fear, and there
seemed to be struggling with this fear an impulse to fly, which he was
unable to obey. Reginald looked like the master, Leon like the culprit
and the slave.

Leon was the first to speak.

"You--here!" he faltered.

"Where else should I be?" said Reginald, in a stern voice.

"What do you want?" asked Leon, rallying from his fear, and apparently
encouraged by the sound of his own voice.

"What do I want?" repeated Reginald. "Many things. First, I want you;
secondly, my mother."

"You won't get any thing out of me," said Leon, fiercely.

"In the first place, the sight of you is one of the chief things," said
Reginald, with a sneer. "After having heard your sad fate, it is
something to see you here in the flesh."

"It's that infernal porter!" cried Leon,
half to himself.

"What do you mean? Do you blame him for letting me
in--_me_--Reginald Dudleigh-your elder brother?"

"You're disinherited," growled Leon.

"Pooh!" said Reginald. "How can the eldest son be disinherited? But I'm
not going to waste time. I have come to call you to account for what
you have done, and I have that to say to you which you must hear, and,
what is more, you must obey."

If Leon's face could have grown whiter than it already was, it would
have become so at these words. His fear seemed swallowed up in a wild
overmastering rush of fury and indignation. He started back and seized
the bell-rope.

"I don't know you!" he almost yelled. "Who are you!" Saying this he
pulled the bell-rope again and again. "Who are you?" he repeated over
and over again, pulling the bell-rope as he spoke. "I'll have you
turned out. You're an infernal impostor! Who are you? I can prove that
Reginald Dudleigh is dead. I'll have you turned out. I'll have you
turned out."

While he was speaking, his frantic and repeated tugs at the bell had
roused the house. Outside the rush of footsteps was heard, and soon a
crowd of servants poured into the room.

"You scoundrels!" roared Leon. "What do you mean by letting strangers in
here in this way? Put this fellow out! Put him out! Curse you! why don't
you collar him and put him out?"

As the servants entered, Reginald turned half round and faced them. Leon
shouted out these words, and shook his fist toward his brother, while
the servants stared in amazement at the astonishing spectacle. The two
brothers stood there before them, the one calm and self-possessed, the
other infuriated with excitement; but the wonderful resemblance between
them held the servants spell-bound.

As soon as he could make himself heard Reginald spoke.

"You will do nothing of the kind. Most of you are new faces, but some
of you remember me. Holder," said he, as his eyes wandering over the
faces before him, rested upon one, "don't you know your young master?
Have you forgotten Reginald Dudleigh?"

As he said this an old man came forth from the rear and looked at him,
with his hands clasped together and his eyes full of tears.

"Lord be merciful to us all," he cried with a trembling voice, "if it
beant Master Reginald hisself come back to life again and me mournin'
over him as dead! Oh Master Reginald, but it's glad I am this day. And
where have ye been?"

"Never mind, old man," said Reginald, kindly; "you'll know soon enough."
Saying this, he shook the old man's hand, and then turned with lowering
brow once more upon Leon.

"Leon," said he, "none of this foolery, You found out what I am when you
were a boy. None of this hysterical excitement. _I_ am master
here."

But Leon made no reply. With his face now on fire with rage, he
retreated a few steps and looked under the table. He called quickly to
something that was there, and as he called, a huge dog came forth and
stood by his side. This dog he led forward, and pointed at Reginald.

The servants looked on with pale faces at this scene, overcome with
horror as they saw Leon's purpose.

"Go," said Leon, fiercely, to Reginald, "or you'll be sorry."

Reginald said nothing, but put his hand into his breast pocket and drew
forth a revolver. It was not a very common weapon in England in those
days, but Reginald had picked one up in his wanderings, and had brought
it with him on the present occasion. Leon, however, did not seem to
notice it. He was intent on one purpose, and that was to drive Reginald
away.

He therefore put his hand on the dog's head, and, pointing toward his
brother, shouted, "At him, Sir!" The dog hesitated for a moment. His
master called again. The huge brute gathered himself up. One more cry
from the now frenzied Leon, and the dog gave a tremendous leap forward
full at Reginald's throat.

A cry of horror burst from the servants. They were by no means
oversensitive, but this scene was too terrible.

The dog sprang.

But at that instant the loud report of Reginald's revolver rang through
the house, and the fierce beast, with a sharp howl, fell back, and lay
on the floor writhing in his death agony. The wound was a mortal one.

Reginald replaced his pistol in his pocket.

"I'm sorry for the poor beast," said he, as he looked at the dog for a
moment, "but I could not help it. And you," he continued, turning to the
servants, "go down stairs. When I want you I will call for you. Holder
will tell you who I am."

At this the servants all retreated, overawed by the look and manner of
this new master.

The shot of the pistol seemed to have overwhelmed Leon. He shrank back,
and stared by turns at Reginald and the dog, with a white face and a
scowling-brow.

After the servants had gone, Reginald walked up to him.

[Illustration: THE FIERCE BEAST, WITH A SHARP HOWL, FELL BACK.]

"I will have no more words," said he, fiercely. "I'm your master now,
Leon, as I always have been. You are in my power now. You must either
do as I bid you, or else go to jail. I have taken up all your notes; I
have paid more than forty thousand pounds, and I now hold those notes of
yours. I do not intend to let you go till you do what I wish. If you
don't, I will take you from this place and put you in jail. I have
warrants all ready, and in the proper hands. The officers are waiting
in the neighborhood. Besides these claims, I shall have charges against
you of a graver kind; you know what, so that you can not escape. Now
listen. I am your only creditor now, and your only accuser. You need
not hide any longer, or fly from the country. Confess; come to terms
with me, and you shall be a free man; refuse, and you shall suffer the
very worst that the law inflicts. If you do not come to terms with me,
you are lost. I give you only this chance. You can do nothing. You
can not harm Miss Dalton now, for I have found you out, and your
miserable trick is of no use any longer. Come, now; decide at once. I
will give you just ten minutes. If you come to terms, you are safe; if
not, you go to jail."

"Who'll take me!" said Leon, in a surly voice.

"_I_," said Reginald--"_I_, with my own hands. I will take
you out of this place, and hand you over to the officers who are waiting
not very far away."

Saying this, Reginald looked at his watch, and then replacing it, turned
once more to Leon.

"Your tricks have failed. I will produce you as you are, and Miss
Dalton will be safe. You'll have to explain it all in court, so you may
as well explain it to me. I don't want to be hard with you. I know you
of old, and have forgiven other villainies of yours. You can't take
vengeance on any one. Even your silence will be of no use. You must
choose between a confession to me now, or a general confession in court.
Besides, even if you could have vengeance, it wouldn't be worth so much
to a man like you as what I offer you. I offer you freedom. I will
give you back all your notes and bonds. You will be no longer in any
danger. More, I will help you. I don't want to use harsh measures if I
can help it. Don't be a fool. Do as I say, and accept my offer. If
you don't, I swear, after what you've done I'll show you no more mercy
than I showed your dog."

Leon was silent. His face grew more tranquil. He was evidently
affected by his brother's words. He stood, in thought, with his eyes
fixed on the floor. Debt was a great evil. Danger was around him.
Freedom was a great blessing. Thus far he had been safe only because he
had been in hiding. Besides, he was powerless now, and his knowledge of
Reginald, as he had been in early life, and as he saw him now, showed
him that his brother always meant what he said.

"I don't believe you have those notes and bonds."

"How could I know unless I paid them? I will tell you the names
concerned in most of them, and the amounts."

And Reginald thereupon enumerated several creditors, with the amounts
due to each. By this Leon was evidently convinced.

"And you've paid them?" said he.

"Yes."

"And you'll give them to me?"

"I will. I am your only creditor now. I have found out and paid every
debt of yours. I did this to force you to come to term. That is all I
want. You see that this is for your interest. More, I will give you
enough to begin life on. Do you ask more than this?"

Leon hesitated for a short time longer.

"Well," said he at last, "what is it that you want me to do?"

"First of all I want you to tell me about that infernal trick of yours
with--the body. Whose is it? Mind you, it's of no consequence now, so
long as you are alive, and can be produced; but I wish to know."

With some hesitation Leon informed his brother. The information which
he gave confirmed the suspicions of Miss Fortescue. He had determined
to be avenged on Edith and her father, and after that night on which
Edith had escaped he had managed to procure a body in London from some
of the body-snatchers who supplied the medical schools there. He had
removed the head, and dressed it in the clothes which he had last worn.
He had taken it to Dalton Park and put it in the well about a week after
Edith's flight. He had never gone back to his room, but had purposely
left it as it was, so as to make his disappearance the more suspicious.
He himself had contrived to raise those frequent rumors which had arisen
and grown to such an extent that they had terminated in the search at
Dalton Park. Anonymous letters to various persons had suggested to them
the supposed guilt of Edith, and the probability of the remains being
found in the well.

The horror which Reginald felt at this disclosure was largely mitigated
by the fact that he had already imagined some such proceeding as this,
for he had felt sure that it was a trick, and therefore it had only been
left to account for the trick.

The next thing which Reginald had to investigate was the mock marriage.
But here he did not choose to question Leon directly about Edith. He
rather chose to investigate that earlier marriage with Miss Fortescue.

By this time Leon's objections to confess had vanished. The inducements
which Reginald held out were of themselves attractive enough to one in
his desperate position, and, what was more, he felt that there was no
alternative. Having once begun, he seemed to grow accustomed to it, and
spoke with greater freedom.

To Reginald's immense surprise and relief, Leon informed him that the
marriage with Miss Fortescue was not a mock marriage at all. For once
in his life he had been honest. The marriage had been a real one. It
was only after the affair in the Dalton vaults that he had pretended
that it was false. He did so in order to free himself from his real
wife, and gain some control over the Dalton estate. The Rev. Mr. Porter
was a bona fide clergyman, and the marriage had been conducted in a
legal manner. He had found out that the Rev. Mr. Porter had gone to
Scotland, and saw that he could easily deceive his wife.