NEW OBLIGATIONS.
That interview with the lawyer left Edith in a state of the deepest
dejection. She had certainly not anticipated any thing like this. She
expected that measures would at once be taken to carry on a contest with
Wiggins, and give her her lawful rights, and above all her freedom. It
never for a moment entered her mind to question the truth of a single
statement that Barber had made. His whole communication with her was of
the most business-like character, as it seemed to her, and she thought
he must be eminent in his profession, or else Dudleigh would not have
employed him. And this was the end of all that hope in which she had
been indulging! Her freedom now seemed farther removed than ever. How
could Sir Lionel ever be found? According to Dudleigh, he lived the life
of a wanderer, and left no trace behind him. It was hard for her to
think that her only hope depended upon finding him.
On the following day Dudleigh came, looking as calm and as unruffled as
usual.
“Barber has gone back,” said he. “I knew before what he was going to
tell you. I had not the heart to tell you myself, or even to be here
when he was telling you.”
“It might have saved me some disappointment if _you_ had told me.”
“But the disappointment would have been as great, and I had not the
heart to inflict sorrow myself upon _you_! I know, after Barber had
explained it to me, how I felt; and I can form some idea of the nature
of your feelings.”
“So there is nothing to be done,” said Edith, with a sigh.
“Pardon me, there is very much indeed to be done, though whether it will
result in any thing remains to be seen.”
“What can I do?”
“Do? Why, as Barber said, hunt up Sir Lionel.”
“I'll never find him.”
“Yes, you can.”
“How?”
“By searching, of course. And that is what I have come about now.”
“Have you thought of any thing new?”
“No, nothing. I merely came to make a proposal.”
“What is it?” asked Edith, languidly; for now there seemed no chance for
any thing.
“It is this,” said Dudleigh. “I propose, if you will allow me, to go
myself.”
“You!” exclaimed Edith, in great surprise.
“Yes.”
“But can you obtain leave to go? You have to go abroad, won't you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But can you leave your regiment?”
“Oh yes. I can get leave of absence for as long a time as will be needed
for that, I think, without difficulty. In fact, before leaving London,
as soon as I heard Barber's opinion, I put in my request at once for two
months' leave, and I have every reason to believe that they will allow
it. I have one or two influential friends, you know.”
“And will you really go? asked Edith, in tones of deep feeling, with all
her gratitude evident in her tone and expression.
“Yes, if you will allow me.”
“I?--allow you? I am only too glad to have a friend who is willing to
undertake such a thing for me in my distress.”
“There is nothing, Miss Dalton, which I would not undertake for you.”
“You are overwhelming me with obligations,” said Edith. “What you have
already done is more than I can ever repay.”
“Do not speak of obligations,” said Dudleigh, earnestly. “My best reward
is the thought that I may have given you even a temporary relief.”
“You have given me much happiness,” said Edith, earnestly; “and if it
proves to be only temporary it will not be your fault. You overwhelm me
with a sense of obligation.”
“Now really, Miss Dalton, if you talk in that way, you will make me feel
ashamed. After all, what have I done? Nothing more than any gentleman
would do. But do not say a word about it again. Let it be taken for
granted that I do this from a selfish motive--simply to please myself,
you know; simply because I love--to do it.”
Dudleigh spoke in his usual quiet way, without any particular ardor,
although once or twice his voice grew more earnest than usual. Edith
said nothing. She felt a little embarrassed, but the self-possession of
Dudley was perfect; he hinted strongly at love, but seemed not at all
like an ardent lover. He looked and acted simply like a friend; and as
Edith needed a friend above all things, she was glad to accept his
services.
“My present plan,” said he, “can be easily explained. Sir Lionel seems
to be somewhere about the Mediterranean. Any letters that are sent to
him have to be directed to Messrs. Chatellon, Comeaux, and Co.,
Marseilles, who forward them to him. I have already written to these
gentlemen, asking where he is; but when they sent their reply they did
not know. They stated, however, that on hearing from him they would let
me know. But to wait for an answer from these gentlemen would be too
great a trial for your patience. You cannot be satisfied, nor could I
unless something is being done. It would simply kill you to wait here,
day after day, week after week, month after month, for letters that
would never come. Nothing is so terrible. You must send some one. Now I
think that the best one you can send is myself, and I hope I speak
without vanity. No mere hireling can go on this service. The one who
goes should have different motives, and for my part I should feel the
search to have a personal interest, and should work for you as I would
for myself.”
“Oh, Lieutenant Dudleigh,” said Edith, “there is no need for me to say
how I should feel about a search made by you. I refrain from expressions
of gratitude, since you forbid them; and so I do not know what to say.”
“Say nothing, then, and--I do not like to say it, but I must--hope for
nothing. If you hope, you may be disappointed. If you do not hope, you
can not be. But in any case, whether you are disappointed or not,
remember this--that in spite of these musty lawyers, if the worst comes
to the worst you have one steadfast friend, and that if you say the word
I will force a way for you through those gates. If you ever feel
discouraged, remember that. It is a great preventive against despair to
know that you have an alternative of some kind. And now I will take my
departure, for the train will leave soon, and I must go at once.”
* * * * *