Edith staggered to her feet.
"Miss Dalton," said Mowbray, in a low voice, "your carriage has been sent for. It is here, and will take you to the Hall."
Edith made no reply, but looked absently toward the door.
"Miss Dalton," said Mowbray, coming a little nearer, "I implore you to hear me. I would kneel at your feet if you would let me. But you are so imbittered against me now that it would be useless. Miss Dalton, it was not hate that made me raise my hand against you. Miss Dalton, I swear that you are more dear to me than life itself. A few moments ago I was mad, and did not know what I was doing. I did not want you to go away from this place, for I saw that you would be lost to me forever. I saw that you hated me, and that if you went away just then I should lose you. And I was almost out of my senses. I had no time to think of any thing but the bitter loss that was before me, and as you fled I seized you, not in anger, but in excitement and fear, just as I would have seized you if you had been drowning."
"Captain Mowbray," said Edith, sternly, "the violence you have offered me is enough to satisfy even you, without such insult as this."
"Will you not even listen to me?"
"Listen!" exclaimed Edith, in an indescribable tone.
"Then I must be heard. I love you. I--"
"Love!" interrupted Edith, in a tone of unutterable contempt.
"Yes, love," repeated Mowbray, vehemently, "from the first time that I saw you, when you implored my help."
"And why did you not give me your help?" asked Edith, looking at him in cold and haughty indignation.
"I will tell you," said Mowbray. "Before I saw you I knew how you were situated. Wiggins would have kept me away, but dared not. I know that about him which makes me his master. When I saw you, I loved you with all my soul. When you appealed to me, I would have responded at once, but could not. The fact is, Mrs. Mowbray was present. Mrs. Mowbray is not what she appears to be. Before her I had to pretend an indifference that I did not feel. In short, I had to make myself appear a base coward. In fact, I had to be on my guard, so as not to excite her suspicions of my feelings. Afterward, when I might have redeemed my character in your eyes, I did not know how to begin. Then, too, I was afraid to help you to escape, for I saw that you hated me, and my only hope was to keep you here till you might know me better."
"Captain Mowbray," said Edith, "if you are a captain, which I doubt, such explanations as these are paltry. After what you have done, the only thing left is silence."
"Oh, Miss Dalton, will nothing lead you to listen to me? I would lay down my life, to serve you."
"You still wish to serve me; then?" asked Edith.
"Most fervently," cried Mowbray.
"Then open that gate," said Edith.
Mowbray hesitated.
"Open that gate," said Edith, "and prove your sincerity. Open it, and efface these marks," she cried, as she indignantly held up her right hand, and showed her wrist, all black from the fierce grasp in which Mowbray had seized it. "Open it, and I promise you I will listen patiently to all that you may have to say."
"Miss Dalton," said Mowbray, "if I opened that gate I should never see you again."
"You will never see me again if you do not."
"At least I shall be near you."
"Near me? Yes, and hated and despised. I will call on Wiggins himself to help me. He was right; he said the time would come when I would be willing to trust him."
"Trust him? What, that man? You don"t know what he is."
"And what are you, Captain Mowbray?"
"I? I am a gentleman."
"Oh no," said Edith, quietly, "not that--any thing rather than that."
At this Mowbray"s face flushed crimson, but with a violent effort he repressed his pa.s.sion.
"Miss Dalton," said he, "it is a thing that you might understand. The fear of losing you made me desperate. I saw in your flight the loss of all my hopes."
"And where are those hopes now?"
"Well, at any rate, I have not altogether lost you. Let me hope that I may have an opportunity to explain hereafter, and to retrieve my character. Miss Dalton, a woman will sometimes forgive offenses even against herself, when she knows that they are prompted by love."
"You seem to me," said Edith, "to seek the affections of women as you do those of dogs--by beating them soundly."
The sight of Mowbray"s dog, who was in the room, reminded Edith of the master"s maxim which he had uttered before this memorable ride.
"Miss Dalton, you do me such wrong that you crush me. Can you not have some mercy?"
"Open the gate," said Edith. "Do that one thing, and then you may make all the explanations you wish. I will listen to anything and everything.
Open the gate, and I will promise to forgive, and even to forget, the unparalleled outrage that I have suffered."
"But you will leave me forever."
"Open that gate, Captain Mowbray. Prove yourself to be what you say--do something to atone for your base conduct--and then you will have claims on my grat.i.tude which I shall always acknowledge."
Mowbray shook his head.
"Can I let you go?" he said. "Do you ask it of me?"
"No," said Edith, impatiently, "I don"t ask it. I neither hope nor ask for any thing from you. Wiggins himself is more promising. At any rate, he has not as yet used absolute violence, and, what is better, he does not intrude his society where it is not wanted."
"Then I have no hope," said Mowbray, in what was intended to be a plaintive tone.
"I"m sure I don"t know," said Edith, "but I know this--that the time will surely come, after all, when I shall get my freedom, and then, Captain Mowbray, you will rue the day when you dared to lay hands on me.
Yes, I could get my freedom now, I suppose, if I were to parley with Wiggins, to bribe him heavily enough; and I a.s.sure you I am tempted now to give up the half of my estate, so as to get free and have you punished."
Mowbray turned pale.
"There were no witnesses," said he, hastily.
"You forget that the porter saw it all. But this is useless," she added; and pa.s.sing by Mowbray, she went to the door. Outside was a carriage, which the porter had brought down from the Hall, into which she got, and then drove away, while Mowbray stood looking at her till she drove out of sight.
The effects of this adventure were felt for some time. Excitement, fatigue, pain, and grief, all affected Edith, so that she could not leave her room for weeks. Mrs. Dunbar was a.s.siduous in her attentions, and Edith supposed that both she and Wiggins knew all about it, as the porter would undoubtedly have informed them; but her communications with her were limited only to a few words, and she regarded her with nothing but distrust. In Mrs. Dunbar"s manner, also, she saw something which indicated a fresh trouble, something which had been manifested by her ever since Mowbray"s first appearance, and which Edith now suspected to be the result of Mowbray"s violence. This led to vain speculations on her part which he had uttered before this memorable as to the mysterious connection that existed between her jailers. Mowbray professed to be the enemy and the master of Wiggins. Her remembrance of Wiggins"s look of hate made her think that this was true. But Mrs. Dunbar she did not believe to be an enemy of Mowbray"s; and the porter, who was the incorruptible servant of Wiggins, seemed equally devoted to Mowbray.
She recalled also Mowbray"s words to herself in explanation of his own course. He had a.s.serted that he had the power over Wiggins from some knowledge which he possessed, and also that Mrs. Mowbray was not what she appeared to be. He had spoken as though he was afraid of Mrs.
Mowbray"s finding out what he called his love for Edith. Was she his mother, then, at all? What did it all mean? For Edith, at any rate, it was not possible to understand it, and the character, motives, and mutual relationship of all those with whom she had come in contact remained an impenetrable mystery.
To the surprise of Edith, the Mowbrays called several times to make inquiries about her, and after her recovery they still visited her. At first she refused to see them, but one day Mrs. Mowbray came alone, and Edith determined to see her, and get rid of her effectually.