"You say you never see Wiggins now?"

"No."

"You are not subject to insults?"

"No--to none."

"Have you the Hall to yourself?"

"Oh yes; I am not interfered with. As long as I stay inside the Hall I am left to myself--only I am watched, of course, as I told you."

"Of course; but, at any rate, it seems a sort of honorable captivity.

You are not like a captive in a dungeon, for instance."

"Oh no."

"Would you rather be here, as you are, or at Miss Plympton's school as a sort of dependent?"

"Here, of course. I could not go back there, and face them all."

"Would you rather live here or in some mean lodging, without money to pay your board?"

"Here," said Edith, after a pause.

"There are worse situations in the world than this, then?"

"It seems so," said Edith, slowly.

"By leaving this just now you would be doing worse, then?"

"It looks like it."

"Well, then, may it not be better for you to remain here, for the present at least, until you hear something from Sir Lionel Dudleigh?"

"But how long will that be?"

"I can not tell."

"Is there nothing else?"

"Certainly the first thing for you to do is to see a lawyer."

"But how can I?"

"I can find one."

"But will you?"

"Of course. I shall be most happy. Only answer me this: If a lawyer takes up your case, shall you be willing to live here, or shall you insist on leaving?"

"I should prefer leaving," said Edith; "but at the same time, if a lawyer has my case, and I can feel that something is being done, I can be content here, at least for a time, until I hear from Sir Lionel--or Miss Plympton."

"Well, then, for the present at least, you give up the idea of fighting your way out?"

"Yes--I suppose so."

"Then all that I have to do is to get a lawyer for you, and write to Sir Lionel, wherever he is."

"You will not let Wiggins keep my lawyer away?" said Edith, in an imploring voice.

"Oh, I fancy he has such a wholesome dread of lawyers that he won't try to keep one out. At any rate, these lawyers have all kinds of ways, you know, of getting places."

"And of getting people out of places, too, I hope."

"I should be sorry not to hope that."

So Edith found herself compelled to face the difficulties of her present situation a little longer, and endure as best she could the restraint of her imprisonment.

CHAPTER XXI.

A WARNING.

The barriers which Wiggins had raised between Edith and the outer world had thus been surmounted by two persons--first, Mowbray, and second, Little Dudleigh. Mowbray had come and gone without any sign of objection or remonstrance from her jailer; and now Edith could not help wondering at the facility with which the new-comer, Dudleigh, pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed those jealously guarded limits. Dudleigh's power arose from some knowledge of the past history of Wiggins, but the knowledge did not seem very definite, and she could not help wondering how long his visits would be tolerated.

She was not left to wonder long. On the evening of the day on which Dudleigh had made his last visit Wiggins came to see her. She had not seen him since that time when he had brought her the so-called letter of Miss Plympton, except once when she had caught a glimpse of him when riding with Mowbray. He now entered in his usual manner, with his solemn face, his formal bow, his abstracted gaze. He sat down, and for a few moments said nothing.

"I do not often inflict my presence on you, Miss Dalton," said he at length. "I have too much regard for you to intrude upon you. Some day you will understand me, and will appreciate my present course. It is only for your own sake that I now come, because I see that you are thoughtless and reckless, and are living under a delusion. You are almost beyond my control, yet I still hope that I may have some faint influence over you--or at least I can try."

His tone was gentle and affectionate. It was, in fact, paternal in its character; but this tone, instead of softening Edith, only seemed to her a fresh instance of his arrogant a.s.sumption, and, as such, excited her contempt and indignation. These feelings, however, she repressed for the moment, and looked at him with a cold and austere face.

"You have been receiving visitors," he continued, "visitors whom I could have kept away if I had--chosen. But to do so would have interfered with my plans, and so I have tolerated them. You, however, have been all along under such a--mistake--about me--and my intentions--that you have thrown yourself upon these strangers, and have, I grieve to say, endangered your own future, and mine, more than you can possibly imagine. Your first visitor was objectionable, but I tolerated him for reasons that I need not explain; but this last visitor is one who ought not to be tolerated either by you or by me. And now I come to you to give you--a--an affectionate warning--to ask of you not to be so reckless, so careless of your best interests, so blind to the great issues that are at stake in--a--my--present plans."

"You appear to me," said Edith, coldly "to have some reference to Lieutenant Dudleigh."

"That is what he calls himself."

"Calls himself?"

"Yes. This name Dudleigh is an a.s.sumed one. He took that so as to gain your confidence."

"You appear to know him very well."

"I do not."