THE MAN OF LAW.
The departure of Dudleigh left Edith to the monotony of her solitary
life. If Dudleigh had desired to win her affections, he could certainly
have chosen no better way of doing so, for by this course he made
himself greatly missed, and caused Edith to count the days in her
impatience for his return. In her loneliness she could not help
recalling the hours she had passed with her agreeable visitor, and thus
was forced to give him a large portion of her thoughts. His connection
with Sir Lionel seemed of itself a recommendation of the strongest kind,
and all that he had done for her, and was still doing, filled her
generous soul with gratitude.
Thinking thus about him, she recalled his whole manner and appearance.
The worst that could be said against him was that he was effeminate. But
at any rate that was better than being brutal. Otherwise he was frank
and engaging and clever and gentlemanly. He had evidently a high sense
of honor. He was devoted to her. From the first time when he had heard
her story down to the present moment he had not ceased to think for her
and to work for her. Even now he had gone to London to obtain for her
what she most wanted--the assistance of the law.
All these things made him appear in a more favorable light than ever.
She recalled his heroism and devotion. She considered that he had done
as much as if he had laid down his life for her, since he had offered to
do so, and had only been prevented by her prohibition. Little Dudleigh,
then, she thought, with his slight frame and small hands, had more real
manhood than a hundred such big brutes as Mowbray. If he is not a true
man, who is? Could she ever hope again to find so devoted a friend?
Impossible. He had come to her in her very darkest hour; he eagerly
espoused her cause, and had devoted himself with all his soul to her
interests. What more could she wish than this?
For several weeks Dudleigh remained away, and Edith grew excessively
impatient. She began to fear for his safety. In her anxiety she
sometimes imagined that Wiggins might have caused some harm to fall on
him in London. She recalled all the dangers of the London streets, of
which she had read in various works of fiction, and imagined Wiggins
hiring some cut-throat to follow him, assassinate him at the first
opportunity, and throw his body into the river. She imagined that some
ruffian, hired of course by Wiggins, might tempt him to take a friendly
glass, drug his liquor, and then dispose of his victim in the same
convenient river. Then her mood changed, and she laughed at the
absurdity of such fears, for she well knew that he must be perfectly
familiar with London life and the London streets, so that any thing of
this kind was nonsensical. Then she thought that perhaps no lawyer would
undertake her case without money being paid at once. In fact, all the
fears that could be suggested by an uneasy mind and a very vivid
imagination came crowding before here as the time passed by and Dudleigh
did not return.
But at last all her fears came to an end. One morning, at the usual
hour, she saw his well-known figure approaching the house. In her eager
joy she hurried at once down stairs, and could scarcely prevent herself
from running down the avenue to meet him. It was with difficulty that
she controlled herself, and waited for him in the drawing-room.
Little Dudleigh entered with his usual calmness and self-possession.
Edith greeted him with the warmest welcome.
“But you come alone,” she said, in a tone of disappointment. “You have
not been successful.”
“In one sense,” said he, “I have been most successful, for I have found
the very man I wanted. I had to wait for him, though. He was in Lyons
when I reached London, and I went over for him and brought him here.”
“Lyons!” exclaimed Edith. “Why, that's in France. Did you really go over
to France?”
“Why not?” said Dudleigh, calmly. “I set forth on a certain purpose, and
I am not in the habit of giving up what I undertake to do. Besides, you
forget for whom that business was undertaken and the impulse that drove
me forward.”
Edith looked at the floor and said nothing. She felt under such
obligations to him that she hardly knew what to say.
“I should like to have brought the lawyer here at once,” he continued,
“but did not. He is now in this neighborhood, however. The reason why
I did not bring him now was because I wished first to see Wiggins
myself. He must be prepared, or he may make trouble. I wish to frighten
him into allowing him to pass. I shall have to make up some plausible
story, however, to account for his visiting you. I have not yet decided
on what it shall be. I think, however, that the lawyer had better come
here alone. You will, of course, know that he is to be trusted. You may
say to him, in fact, whatever you like.”
“But wouldn't it be better for you to be present also?” said Edith. “I
may require your advice.”
“Thank you, Miss Dalton. I assure you I value most highly every
expression of your confidence. But I think it will be better for you to
see him alone. He will give you his card. His name is Barber. If I were
to come with him, Wiggins might suspect. At the same time, I don't know,
after all, but that I may change my mind and come with him. But in any
case you may talk to him freely. He has not been idle, for he has
already mastered your whole situation. You may trust him just as much as
you trust me. You may, in fact, regard him the same as me.”
“And he will be here to-morrow?” said Edith.
“Yes.”
“I know you hate expressions of gratitude,” said Edith, after a pause;
“but I can only say that my own gratitude is beyond expression. You have
given me hope--”
“Say nothing about it,” said Dudleigh, interrupting her. “That will be
the best thanks, though really I have done nothing to merit
thanks. Duty and honor both impelled me to serve you, without
mentioning--any--a--deeper and stronger feeling.”
Edith again looked at the floor. She suspected the existence of this
stronger feeling and did not altogether like to think of it. Her own
feelings toward him were singularly cool, and she did not wish him to be
otherwise. His general calmness of demeanor was very pleasant to her,
and his occasional allusions to any deeper sentiment than common, few
though they were, troubled her greatly. What if he should seek as his
reward that which he surely had a right to hope for--her hand? Could she
give it? On the other hand, could she have the heart to refuse it? The
alternative was not pleasant.
On the following day, while Edith was waiting in great impatience, a
stranger came to the Hall to call upon her.
The stranger was a small-sized man, with round shoulders, gray hair,
bushy eyebrows, and sallow skin. He wore spectacles, his clothes were of
good material, but rather loose fit, betokening one who was indifferent
to dress. His boots were loose, his gloves also, and an umbrella which
he carried, being without a band, had a baggy appearance, which was
quite in keeping with the general style of this man's costume. He looked
to Edith so much like a lawyer that she could not help wondering at the
completeness with which one's profession stamps itself upon the
exterior.
“I am sent,” said the stranger, after a brief, stiff salutation, “by
Lieutenant Dudleigh, to communicate with you about your present
position. I take it for granted that we shall not be overheard, and
propose to carry on this conversation in as low a tone as possible.”
Saying this, the stranger took a quick, sharp glance through his
spectacles around the room.
His voice was dry and thin, his manner abrupt and stiff and
business-like. Evidently he was a dried-up lawyer, whose whole life had
been passed among parchments.
Edith assured him that from where they were sitting they could not be
overheard if they spoke in a moderately low voice. This appeared to
satisfy the stranger, and after another survey of the room, he drew
forth from his breast pocket a wallet filled with papers--a well-worn,
fat, business-like wallet--and taking from this a card, he rose stiffly
and held this toward Edith. She took it, and glancing over it read the
address:
HENRY BARBER,
SOLICITOR,
Inner Temple, London.
Edith bowed. “Lieutenant Dudleigh told me your name,” said she.
“And now,” said he, “let us proceed to business, for my time is limited.
“Lieutenant Dudleigh,” he began, “has already explained to me, in a
general way, the state of your affairs. He found me at Lyons, where I
was engaged in some important business, and made me come to England at
once. He directed me verbally, though not formally or in proper order,
to investigate as much as I could about your affairs before coming here,
and requested me to consider myself as your solicitor. That, I suppose,
is quite correct, is it not?”
“It is,” said Edith.
“Under these circumstances,” continued Barber, “I at once went to the
proper quarter, and investigated the will of your late father; for your
whole position, as you must be aware, depends upon that. Of course no
will can deprive you of your lawful inheritance in real estate, which
the law of the country secures to you and yours forever; but yet it may
surround you with certain restrictions more or less binding. Now it was
my object to see about the nature of these restrictions, and so
understand your peculiar position.”
Here Barber paused, and taking out his wallet, drew from it a slip of
paper on which he had penciled some memoranda.
“In the multiplicity of my legal cares, Miss Dalton,” he continued, “I
find it necessary to jot down notes with reference to each individual
case. It prevents confusion and saves time, both of which are, to a
lawyer, considerations of the utmost moment.
“And now, with reference to your case, first of all, the will and the
business of the guardianship--let us see about that. According to this
will, you, the heir, are left under the care of two guardians for a
certain time. One of these guardians is on the spot. The other is not.
Each of these men has equal powers. Each one of these is trustee for
you, and guardian of you. But one has no power superior to the other.
This is what the will distinctly lays down. Of course, Miss Dalton, you
will perceive that the first necessary thing is to know this, What are
the powers of a guardian? Is it not?”
Edith bowed. The mention of two guardians had filled her with eager
curiosity, but she repressed this feeling for the present, so as not to
interrupt the lawyer in his speech.
“What, then, are the powers of a guardian? To express this in the
simplest way, so that you can understand those powers perfectly, a
guardian stands, as the law has it, _in loco parentis_--which means
that he is the same as a father. The father dies; he perpetuates his
authority by handing it over to another. He is not dead, then. The
_man_ dies, but the _father_ lives in the person of the
guardian whom he may have appointed. Such,” said Mr. Barber, with
indescribable emphasis--“such, Miss Dalton, is the LAW. You must know,”
he continued, “that the law is very explicit on the subject of
guardianship. Once make a man a guardian and, as I have remarked, he
forthwith stands _in loco parentis_, and the ward is his child in
the eye of the LAW. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Edith, in a despondent tone. She felt disappointment and
discouragement at hearing all this, and could only hope that there would
be something yet which would open better prospects.
“Such, then, are the powers of a guardian,” continued Barber. “They are
very strong, and that will, by giving you guardians, has tied you up.”
“But I am of age,” said Edith, meekly.
Barber waved his hand slightly. “That,” said he, “is a point which I
shall consider presently. Just now I will say this--that the framer of
that will considered all these points, and arranged that the
guardianship should continue until such time as you might obtain another
guardian of another kind, before whom all others are powerless.”
“But who are my guardians?” asked Edith, in great excitement, unable any
longer to repress her curiosity. “One is Wiggins, I know. Who is the
other?”
“One,” said Barber, “is, as you say, John Wiggins; the other is Sir
Lionel Dudleigh.”
“Sir Lionel Dudleigh!” exclaimed Edith, while a feeling of profound
satisfaction came to her. “Oh, how glad I am!”
“It is indeed a good thing that it is so,” said Barber; “but,
unfortunately, he can not at present be of service. For where is he? He
is in parts unknown. He is out of the country. He is, for the present,
the same as though he were dead. It is not probable that he has heard of
your father's death, or of the existence of this will, unless, indeed,
Mr. Wiggins has taken the trouble to find out where he is, and send him
the information. That, however, is not likely. How, then, is it with
you? You have, in point of fact, at the present time virtually but
_one guardian_. He is here on the spot. He is exerting his
authority, and you assert, I think, that he subjects you to a sort of
imprisonment. Miss Dalton, he has a right to do this.”
Saying this, Barber was silent for a moment, and looked at Edith, and
then at the floor. On the other hand she looked steadfastly at him; but
her hand trembled, and an expression of utter hopelessness came over her
face.
“Is that all that you have to tell me?” she said at last, in a
despairing voice.
“Certainly not, Miss Dalton,” said Barber--“certainly not. I have much
more to say. But first it was necessary to explain your position, and
lay down the LAW. There is only one reason why you sent for me, and why
I came. You wish, by some means or other, to get free from the control
of this guardian, John Wiggins.”
“Yes,” said Edith, earnestly.
“Very well,” said Barber. “I know all about that. I have been informed
by Lieutenant Dudleigh. You wish in some way or other to gain your
freedom. Now in order to do this there are two different ways, Miss
Dalton, and only two. The first is to find your other guardian, and
obtain his assistance. Who is he? Sir Lionel Dudleigh. Where is he? No
one knows. What then? He must be found. You must send out emissaries,
messengers, detectives, in short; you must send off some one who will
find him wherever he is, and make him acquainted with your position. But
suppose that you can not find him, or that he is indifferent to your
interests--a thing which is certainly possible--what then? What are you
to do? You are then under the control of John Wiggins, your remaining
guardian; and it remains to be seen whether, by the provisions of the
will, there is any other way in which you may escape from that control.
Now the will has made provisions, and here is the other of those two
ways of escape of which I spoke. This is marriage. If you were to marry,
that moment you would be free from the control of John Wiggins; and not
only so, but he would at once be compelled to quit the premises, and
hand in his accounts. Of course his object is to prevent any thing of
that kind, which would be so ruinous to him, and therefore he will keep
you shut up, if possible, as long as he lives; but if you should adopt
this way of escape, Miss Dalton, you would turn the tables at once; and
if, as I have understood is the case, he has made any misappropriations
of money, or defalcations of any kind, he will be bound to make them
good, to the uttermost farthing. Such, Miss Dalton, is the LAW.”
“And I have no better prospect than this?” exclaimed Edith, in deep
dejection.
“Those, Miss Dalton, are the only two courses possible.”
“And if Sir Lionel can not be found?”
“Then you will have to fall back on the other alternative.”
“But that is out of the question.”
“Such, unfortunately are the only provisions of the will.”
“Then there is no hope,” sighed Edith.
“Hope? Oh yes! There is plenty of hope. In the first place I would urge
you to lose no time in searching after your uncle.”
“I shall do so. Will you see to it?”
“I will do all that I can. You wish me, of course, to act in connection
with Lieutenant Dudleigh.”
“Of course.”
“I will begin at once. And now I must go.”
The lawyer put his memoranda back in the wallet, restoring the latter to
his pocket, and took his hat.
“But must I remain a prisoner here?” cried Edith. “Is there no law to
free me--none whatever? After all, I am a British subject, and I have
always understood that in England no one can be imprisoned without a
trial.”
“You are a ward, Miss Dalton, and guardians can control their wards, as
parents control children.”
“But parents can not control children who are of age.”
[Illustration: “SUCH MISS DALTON, IS THE LAW!”]
“A ward is under age till the time specified in the legal instrument
that appoints the guardian. You, until marriage, are what the law calls
an 'infant.' But do not be discouraged, Miss Dalton. We will hunt up Sir
Lionel, and if he can be found we will bring him back to England.”
Saying this, in the same dry, business-like tone that he had used all
along, Barber bowed himself out.
* * * * *