WALLED IN.
Very early on the following day Edith arose, and found Mrs. Dunbar
already moving about. She remarked that she had heard Edith dressing
herself, and had prepared a breakfast for her. This little mark of
attention was very grateful to Edith, who thanked Mrs. Dunbar quite
earnestly, and found the repast a refreshing one. After this, as it was
yet too early to think of calling on Miss Plympton, she wandered about
the house. The old nooks and corners dear to memory were visited once
more. Familiar scenes came back before her. Here was the nursery, there
her mother's room, in another place the library. There, too, was the
great hall up stairs, with pictures on each side of ancestors who went
back to the days of the Plantagenets. There were effigies in armor of
knights who had fought in the Crusades and in the Wars of the Roses; of
cavaliers who had fought for King Charles; of gallant gentlemen who had
followed their country's flag under the burning sun of India, over the
sierras of Spain, and in the wilderness of America. And of all these she
was the last, and all that ancestral glory was bound up in her, a weak
and fragile girl. Deeply she regretted at that moment that she was not a
man, so that she might confer new lustre upon so exalted a lineage.
[Illustration: “SHE SAW THE BLACK SERVANT, HUGO.”]
As she wandered through the rooms and galleries all her childhood came
back before her. She recalled her mother, her fond love, and her early
death. That mother's picture hung in the great hall, and she gazed at it
long and pensively, recalling that noble face, which in her remembrance
was always softened by the sweet expression of tenderest love. But it
was here that something met her eyes which in a moment chased away every
regretful thought and softer feeling, and brought back in fresh
vehemence the strong glow of her grief and indignation. Turning away
from her mother's portrait by a natural impulse to look for that of her
father, she was at first unable to find it. At length, at the end of the
line of Dalton portraits, she noticed what at first she had supposed to
be part of the wall out of repair. Another glance, however, showed that
it was the back of a picture. In a moment she understood it. It was her
father's portrait, and the face had been turned to the wall.
Stung by a sense of intolerable insult, her face flushed crimson, and
she remained for a few moments rooted to the spot glaring at the
picture. Who had dared to do this--to heap insult upon that innocent and
suffering head, to wrong so foully the memory of the dead? Her first
impulse was to tear it down with her own hands, and replace it in its
proper position; her next to seek out Wiggins at once and denounce him
to his face for all his perfidy, of which this was the fitting climax.
But a more sober thought followed--the thought of her own weakness.
What could her words avail against a man like that? Better far would it
be for her to wait until she could expel the usurper, and take her own
place as acknowledged mistress in Dalton Hall. This thought made her
calmer, and she reflected that she need not wait very long. This day
would decide it all, and this very night her father's portrait should be
placed in its right position.
This incident destroyed all relish for further wandering about the
house, and though it was yet early, she determined to set out at once
for the village and find Miss Plympton. With this design she descended
to the lower hall, and saw there the same black servant whom she had
seen the day before.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Hugo,” said the black, with his usual grin.
“Well, Hugo,” said she, “I want the brougham. Go to the stables, have
the horses put in, and come back as soon as you can. And here is
something for your trouble.”
Saying this, she proffered him a sovereign.
But the black did not appear to see it. He simply said, “Yes, miss,”
and turned away. Edith was surprised; but thinking that it was merely
his stupidity, she went up stairs and waited patiently for a long time.
But, in spite of her waiting, there were no signs of any carriage; and
at length, growing impatient, she determined to go to the stables
herself. She knew the way there perfectly well, and soon reached the
place. To her surprise and vexation the doors were locked, and there
were no signs whatever of Hugo.
“The stupid black must have misunderstood me,” thought she.
She now returned to the house, and wandered all about in search of some
servants. But she saw none. She began to think that Hugo was the only
servant in the place; and if so, as he had disappeared, her chance of
getting the brougham was small indeed. As for Wiggins, she did not think
of asking him, and Mrs. Dunbar was too much under the influence of
Wiggins for her to apply there. She was therefore left to herself.
Time passed thus, and Edith's impatience grew intolerable. At length, as
she could not obtain a carriage, she determined to set out on foot and
walk to Dalton. She began now to think that Wiggins had seen Hugo, found
out what she wanted, and had forbidden the servant to obey. This seemed
the only way in which she could account for it all. If this were so, it
showed that there was some unpleasant meaning in the language which
Wiggins had used to her on the previous evening about a secluded life,
and in that case any delay made her situation more unpleasant. She had
already lost too much time, and therefore could wait no longer. On the
instant, therefore, she set out, and walked down the great avenue toward
the gates. It was a longer distance than she had supposed: so long,
indeed, did it seem that once or twice she feared that she had taken the
wrong road; but at last her fears were driven away by the sight of the
porter's lodge.
On reaching the gates she found them locked. For this she had not been
prepared; but a moment's reflection showed her that this need not excite
surprise. She looked up at them with a faint idea of climbing over. One
glance, however, showed that to be impossible; they were high, and
spiked at the top, and over them was a stone arch which left no room for
any one to climb over. She looked at the wall, but that also was beyond
her powers. Only one thing now remained, and that was to apply to the
porter. After this fellow's rudeness on the previous day, she felt an
excessive repugnance toward making any application to him now; but her
necessity was urgent, and time pressed. So she quieted her scruples, and
going to the door of the porter's house, knocked impatiently.
The porter came at once to the door, and bowed as respectfully as
possible. His demeanor, in fact, was totally different from what it had
been on the previous day, and evinced every desire to show respect,
though perhaps he might manifest it rather awkwardly. Edith noticed
this, and was encouraged by it.
“I want you to let me out,” said Edith. “I'm going to Dalton.”
The man looked at her, and then at the ground, and then fumbled his
fingers together; after which he plunged his hands in his pockets.
“Do you hear what I say?” said Edith, sharply. “I want you to unlock the
gate.”
“Well, miss, as to that--I humbly beg your pardon, miss, but I've got my
orders not to.”
“Nonsense,” said Edith. “No one here gives orders but me. I am mistress
here.”
“Beg pardon, miss, but I don't know any master but Master Wiggins.”
“Wiggins!” said Edith.
“Yes, miss, an' hopin' it's no offense. I have to obey orders.”
“But he couldn't have given you orders about me,” said Edith, haughtily.
“He said all persons, miss, comin' or goin', all the same. No offense
bein' intended, miss, an' beggin' your pardon.”
“But this is absurd,” said Edith. “He knows that I am going to Dalton.
You have misunderstood him.”
“I'm sorry, miss. I'd do any thin' to oblige, miss; but I've got to do
as I'm bid.”
“Who employs you?”
“Master, miss--Master Wiggins.”
“Do you want to keep this situation?”
“Keep this situation?”
“Yes. You don't want to be turned out, do you?”
“Oh, no miss.”
“Well, obey me now, and you shall remain. I am the mistress of Dalton
Hall, and the owner of these estates. Wiggins is the agent, and seems
disinclined to do what I wish. He will have to leave. If you don't want
to leave also, obey me now.”
All this seemed to puzzle the porter, but certainly made no impression
upon his resolve. He looked at Edith, then at the ground, then at the
trees, and finally, as Edith concluded, he said:
“Beg pardon, miss, but orders is orders, an' I've got to obey mine.”
Edith now began to feel discouraged. Yet there was one resource left,
and this she now tried. Drawing forth her purse, she took out some
pieces of gold.
“Come,” said she, “you do very well to obey orders in ordinary cases;
but in my case you are violating the law, and exposing yourself to
punishment. Now I will pay you well if you do me this little service,
and will give you this now, and much more afterward. Here, take this,
and let me out quick.”
The porter kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and did not even look at
the gold. “See!” said Edith, excitedly and hurriedly--“see!”
The porter would not look. But at last he spoke, and then came the old
monotonous sentence,
“Beggin' your pardon, miss, an' hopin' there's no offense, I can't do
it. I've got to obey orders, miss.”
At this Edith gave up the effort, and turning away, walked slowly and
sadly from the gates.
This was certainly more than she had anticipated. By this she saw
plainly that Wiggins was determined to play a bold game. The possibility
of such restraint as this had never entered into her mind. Now she
recalled Miss Plympton's fears, and regretted when too late that she had
trusted herself within these gates. And now what the porter had told her
showed her in one instant the full depth of his design. He evidently
intended to keep her away from all communication with the outside world.
And she--what could she do? How could she let Miss Plympton know? How
could she get out? No doubt Wiggins would contrive to keep all avenues
of escape closed to her as this one was. Even the walls would be
watched, so that she should not clamber over.
Among the most disheartening of her discoveries was the incorruptible
fidelity of the servants of Wiggins. Twice already had she tried to
bribe them, but on each occasion she had failed utterly. The black
servant and the porter were each alike beyond the reach of her gold.
Her mind was now agitated and distressed. In her excitement she could
not yet return to the Hall, but still hoped that she might escape,
though the hope was growing faint indeed. She felt humiliated by the
defeat of her attempts upon the honesty of the servants. She was
troubled by the thought of her isolation, and did not know what might be
best to do.
One thing now seemed evident, and this was that she had a better chance
of escaping at this time than she would have afterward. If she was to
be watched, the outlook could not yet be as perfect or as well organized
as it would afterward be. And among the ways of escape she could think
of nothing else than the wall. That wall, she thought, must certainly
afford some places which she might scale. She might find some gate in a
remote place which could afford egress. To this she now determined to
devote herself.
With this purpose on her mind, she sought to find her way through the
trees to the wall. This she was able to do without much difficulty, for
though the trees grew thick, there was no underbrush, but she was able
to walk along without any very great trouble. Penetrating in this way
through the trees, she at length came to the wall. But, to her great
disappointment, she found its height here quite as great as it had been
near the gate, and though in one or two places trees grew up which threw
their branches out over it, yet those trees were altogether inaccessible
to her.
Still she would not give up too quickly, but followed the wall for a
long distance. The further she went, however, the more hopeless did her
search seem to grow. The ground was unequal, sometimes rising into
hills, and at other times sinking into valleys; but in all places,
whether hill or valley, the wall arose high, formidable, not to be
scaled by one like her. As she looked at it the thought came to her that
it had been arranged for that very purpose, so that it should not be
easily climbed, and so it was not surprising that a barrier which might
baffle the active poacher or trespasser should prove insuperable to a
slender girl like her.
She wandered on, however, in spite of discouragement, in the hope of
finding a gate. But this search was as vain as the other. After
walking for hours, till her feeble limbs could scarcely support her any
longer, she sank down exhausted, and burst into tears.
For a long time she wept, overwhelmed by accumulated sorrow and
despondency and disappointment. At length she roused herself, and drying
her eyes, looked up and began to think of returning to the Hall.
To her amazement she saw the black servant, Hugo, standing not far away.
As she raised her eyes he took off his cap, and grinned as usual. The
sight of him gave Edith a great shock, and excited new suspicions and
fears within her.
Had she been followed?
She must have been. She had been watched and tracked. All her desperate
efforts had been noted down to be reported to Wiggins--all her long and
fruitless search, her baffled endeavors, her frustrated hopes!
It was too much.
* * * * *