"You hesitate, Miss Dalton," said he at last. "Have you your old fear about bloodshed?"
"I can not bear to risk such a sacrifice," said Edith.
"But one has a right to fly from slavery, and to destroy any one who tries to prevent his escape."
"I can not," said Edith. "The blood that might be shed would stain all my life. Better to endure my misery as best I can. It must become far worse before I can consent to any thing so terrible as the death of a fellow-being."
"You may yet consent even to that, may you not?"
"Well, if you do, you have one on whom you can rely. At any rate, I do not think there is any reason for you to fear downright cruelty here. The law protects you from that, just as it protects a child. You are not a captive in the hands of one of those old feudal barons whom we read about. You are simply a ward under the control of a guardian--a thing most odious to one like you, yet one which does not make you liable to any physical evil. But this is poor comfort. I know that your position will become more intolerable as time goes on; and, Miss Dalton, whenever you can bear it no longer, remember that I am ready. Your only danger would be if I should happen to be ordered out of England. But even then I would order Barber to watch over you."
Edith sighed. Her future seemed dark indeed. The chance that Dudleigh might be ordered to America or India filled her with new alarm.
"In six or eight weeks," said he, "I hope to come again. I shall never forget you, but day and night I shall be planning for your happiness."
He took her hand as he said this. Edith noticed that the hand which held hers was as cold as ice. He raised her hand and pressed it to his lips.
On the day after the departure of Dudleigh, Edith found a letter lying on her table. It was addressed to her in that stiff, constrained hand which she knew so well as belonging to that enemy of her life and of her race--John Wiggins. With some curiosity as to the motive which he might have in thus writing to her, she opened the letter, and read the following:
"DEAR MISS DALTON,--I feel myself incapable of sustaining another interview with you, and I am therefore reduced to the necessity of writing.
"I have been deeply pained for a long time at the recklessness with which you receive total strangers as visitors, and admit them to your confidence. I have already warned you, but my warnings were received by you in such a manner as to prevent my encountering another interview.