He had become well known in the village, where he had resided for some time. His rank, his reputed wealth, and his personal appearance had all made him a man of mark. His marriage with Miss Dalton, who was known to be his cousin, had been publicly announced, and had excited very general surprise, chiefly because it was not known that Miss Dalton had returned. The gentry had not called on the bride, however, partly on account of the cloud that hung over the Dalton name, but more especially on account of the air of mystery that hung about the marriage, and the impression that was prevalent that calls were not expected.
The marriage had been largely commented upon, but had been generally approved. It had taken place within the family, and the stain on the Dalton name could thus be obliterated by merging it with that of Dudleigh. It seemed, therefore, wise and appropriate and politic, and the reserve of the married couple was generally considered as a mark of delicacy, good taste, and graceful respect for public opinion.
Captain Dudleigh had at first been a.s.sociated with a friend and relative of his, Lieutenant Dudleigh, who had made himself quite popular in the outside world. Neither of them, however, had gone into society. It was understood that Lieutenant Dudleigh had come simply for the purpose of being the captain"s groomsman, and when, after the marriage, he disappeared, nothing more was thought about him.
Occupying as he did this place in the attention of the county people, Captain Dudleigh"s disappearance created an excitement which can easily he imagined. Who first started the report could not be found out, but no sooner had it been started than it spread like wild-fire.
Moreover, in spite of the landlady"s care, they had heard of Edith"s flight and illness, and naturally a.s.sociated these two startling facts together. The Dalton name was already covered with deep disgrace, and that another tragedy should take place in connection with it was felt to be very natural. Week after week pa.s.sed on, and still there were no tidings of the missing man. With the lapse of each week the excitement only increased. Throughout the whole county this was the common topic of conversation. It was matter for far more than the ordinary nine days" wonder, for about this there was the fascination and the horror of an impenetrable mystery.
For it was universally felt that in some way or other this mystery was connected with Edith, and that its solution lay with her. It was universally known that she had fled from Dalton Hall in a most suspicious and unaccountable manner, and that Captain Dudleigh had disappeared on that very night. It was natural, therefore, that every body should think of her as being, to some extent at least, aware of the fate of Dudleigh, and that she alone could account for it.
And so the excitement grew stronger and stronger every day. Gradually the whole public came to know something about the circ.u.mstances of the ill-fated marriage. There seemed to be some power at work which sent forth fresh intelligence at various intervals to excite the public mind.
It was not Wiggins, for he kept himself in strict seclusion; and people who went to stare at the gates of Dalton Park found nothing for their pains. It could not have been the vicar, for his terror had reduced him to a state of simple imbecility. There was some other cause, and that cause seemed always at work.
From this mysterious cause, then, the public gained a version of the story of that marriage, which was circulated every where. Miss Dalton, it was said, had fallen in love with Captain Dudleigh, but her guardian, Wiggins, had resisted her inclinations. She determined to get married in spite of him, and Captain Dudleigh had a clergyman brought into the park, who performed the ceremony secretly. After the marriage, however, it was said, Captain Dudleigh treated his wife badly, and clamored for money to pay his debts. His wife suspected that he bad married her for this sole purpose. They quarreled incessantly. Her health broke down through grief and disappointment, and she was ill for a long time. After her recovery they had several stormy interviews, in which she had threatened his life. It was said that she always carried a dagger, with which she had sworn to kill him. She had told him to his face that she would have "_his heart"s blood_."
Such was the story that circulated far and wide among all cla.s.ses. None had seen Edith personally except the doctor and those at the inn; and the general impression about her was that she was a fierce, bold, impetuous woman, with iron resolution and masculine temper. So, on the whole, public opinion ran high against her, and profound sympathy was felt for the injured husband.
All this was not confined to the county. The metropolitan papers had mentioned it and discussed it, and the "_Continued Disappearance of Captain Dudleigh_" was for a long time the standing heading of many paragraphs.
But during all this time Edith remained at the inn in complete seclusion, recovering slowly hut surely. In that seclusion she was utterly ignorant of the excitement which she had caused, and, indeed, was not aware that she was talked of at all. The papers were all kindly kept out of her sight, and as she had never been accustomed to read them, she never thought of asking for them.
But the public feeling had at last reached that point at which it demanded, with resistless voice, an inquiry after the missing man.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.
THE OLD WELL.
Public feeling had grown so strong that it could no longer be disregarded, and the authorities had to take up the case. It was enforced upon their attention in many ways. The whole county urged it upon them, and journals of note in different parts of the kingdom denounced their lethargy. Under these circ.u.mstances they were compelled to take some action.
Wiggins had foreseen this, and to guard against this necessity he had himself done all in his power to search after the missing man. He had put the case in the hands of detectives, who had carried on an investigation in all quarters, and in every possible way; but to no purpose, and with no result. When at length the authorities came, he informed them of his search and its failure, but a.s.sured them that he still believed that Captain Dudleigh was alive. His theory was that, being heavily in debt, he had taken this mode of eluding his creditors, and after causing it to be believed that he was dead, he had quietly disappeared, and was now enjoying himself somewhere on the Continent.
No one else, however, shared this opinion, and those who came to the search had no doubt that the missing man had been murdered. So they inst.i.tuted a regular search over the whole estate. They began with the Hall, and went through every part of it. Then they turned their attention to the grounds These were extensive, and it seemed probable that somewhere among the groves or swamps the remains might be found.
They searched the chapel and the vaults. They dragged the pond in front of the house. In all this Wiggins lent his active a.s.sistance toward furthering the ends of justice, but at the same time retained the firmest conviction that it was a trick of Dudleigh"s, and that he was now in foreign parts.
At length some of those who had been going the rounds of the wall returned to the house, carrying something, the sight of which produced a profound excitement. It was the hook and rope by which Edith, had sought to escape. They found it hanging upon the wall, and every one recognized at a glance the intention of this rope-ladder. But the thing that produced the strongest excitement was something else. They had found it lying among the gra.s.s at the foot of the ladder, having evidently been dropped by some fugitive as an impediment, or thrown away as useless. It was a dagger, which, from being so long exposed to the weather, was covered with rust, but was still sharp and deadly.
This dagger seemed at once to confirm the general impression. It showed that one of the fugitives of that night--the one who had escaped--had been armed with a deadly weapon. Every one knew who the one was who had escaped. Every one had already suspected her. Her wild flight, her terrible agitation, her long illness--all had been known. What else could cause such a state of things but the dread remembrance of some dark crime? And now this dagger lay before them, the silent proof of the guilt of her who had left it there.
Upon Wiggins the effect was crushing. His tongue was paralyzed. He kept aloof after that, with despair on his face, and surveyed the proceedings at a distance. Not so Mrs. Dunbar. All this time she had been feverish and agitated, sometimes following the officers, at other times retiring.
Upon her the sight of that dagger acted like something that confirmed the worst of her fears, and she burst forth into wild wails and lamentations. She then urged the officers to renewed search, and finally told them all about her own discovery of the empty rooms on that eventful morning, and the singular behavior of the dog.
The mention of this created new excitement, and they at once asked where the dog now was.
Mrs. Dunbar did not know. The dog had disappeared most mysteriously, and they had seen nothing of him for a long time.
They then asked to be taken to the place where the dog had stationed himself. Mrs. Dunbar, still wild with excitement, led the way there.
Arriving at the spot, they examined it narrowly, but found nothing. It was gra.s.s, which had not been touched for years. No body lay buried beneath that old turf, as was plainly evident. They then went to the out-houses, toward which Mrs. Dunbar told them the dog had kept his face, turned for some time when she had first seen him; but here they found nothing whatever.
It was now late, and they began to think of retiring, when suddenly one of the party, who had been walking in the rear of the stables, gave a call which drew them all in that direction. Upon reaching him they found him standing at the edge of a pit, which looked like an old well. Over this there was still the frame of what had been the well-house, and the well itself was very deep. Kneeling, they all peered into the black depths beneath them, but discovered nothing. One of them dropped a stone, and the sound far below showed that the bottom lay at least sixty or eighty feet from the surface.
"How long since this well has been used?" asked the sheriff.
"Many years," said Mrs. Dunbar.
"Did you examine it?"
"We never thought of doing so."
"Well, we may as well try it. Can we have a rope?"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Dunbar, who at once went to the house, and soon returned with Hugo, who carried a long stout rope.
Now it remained to explore the well, and to do this it would be necessary for some one to descend. But no difficulty was found in this.
By this time all had been stimulated to the highest degree by the excitement of the search, and there was something in the look of the well which made it seem like the very place for the hurried disposal of a body. Here, then, they were all convinced, if any where, they would be sure to come upon that which they sought. Accordingly several volunteered to go down; but the sheriff chose from among them the one who seemed fittest for that purpose, and to the others was allotted the task of lowering him. Some further time was taken up in making the necessary preparations for this; but at length these were all completed, and the man who was to go down, after binding one end of the rope about his chest and giving the other end to his companions, prepared to descend.
The well was not very wide, and was lined around its sides with rough stones. In the interstices between these he inserted his feet and hands, and thus he let himself down, descending gradually.
The others knelt around the mouth of the well, holding the rope, and letting it pa.s.s through their hands as their companion descended, peering silently into the dark with eager eyes, and listening breathlessly to the dull sounds made by the man below as he descended further and further.
At last all was still. From below there came no sound. He had reached the bottom. More anxiously than ever they tried to pierce through the gloom, but that gloom was impenetrable. Their companion delayed long.
They began to feel uneasy.
At length they heard sounds, and knew that he was ascending. With what intelligence? What had he found in that awful abyss? This was the question which was suggested to every heart, but a question which no one could answer They lent their a.s.sistance, and pulled at the rope to help their companion. Nearer and nearer he came, and still nearer, until at last he was within reach. A few moments more and he emerged from the mouth of the well, and falling forward, he lay for a moment motionless.
They all rushed to his a.s.sistance, but he shook them off and rose to his feet.
"Did you find any thing?"
"Yes," said the man, in a hollow voice.
"What?" cried all, in breathless suspense.
"You shall see. Bring lights here, somebody. It"s getting too dark for this business."
Hugo was at once dispatched to the Hall by Mrs. Dunbar for lights. There was by this time every necessity for them. Much time had been taken up with their preparations, and the shadows of evening had already gathered about them. While Hugo was gone they all questioned their companion, but he refused to say any thing.
"Don"t ask me," he replied. "Wait and see for yourselves."
At this answer there was but one conviction in the minds of all, which was that the object of their search had been found. But there was now no further delay. Hugo soon returned with a lantern, and the man prepared to descend once more. The lantern he hung about his neck, and taking another piece of rope with him, the end of which was left with those above, he again went down. This time he was gone longer than before. Those above peering through the gloom could see a faint light far below, and the shadowy outline of their companion.
At length he began to ascent, and in due time reached the top.