"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 a.s.sumes some other," said Edith. "But they are all a.s.sumed 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 a.s.sumed 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 surpa.s.ses 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 a.s.sociates, but he himself is not bad. After all, Leon has naturally a n.o.ble 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 x.x.x.
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 a.s.sistance, 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 pa.s.sive 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 att.i.tude 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.serted 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 a.s.sertions 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 a.s.serts 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 a.s.serts 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."