THE SOURCES OF THE NILE.
At length, after an absence of four or five weeks, Dudleigh returned.
Edith had tried hard not to hope, so as to be prepared for a
disappointment; but after all, in spite of her efforts, she could not
help hoping. She put great confidence in Dudleigh's energy and
perseverance, and thought that he would be able not only to find out
where Sir Lionel might be, but even to see him, and make him acquainted
with her situation. He had already done so much for her that it seemed
quite possible for him to do this. As the days passed by she found
herself looking forward to his return as the time of her certain
deliverance, until at length hope grew into confidence, and the idea of
disappointment was completely driven away.
At last he came, and his first appearance put to flight all her hopes,
and filled her with a nameless terror. He looked dejected and weary. He
asked after her health, and whether she had been in any way molested;
after which Edith entreated him to tell her the worst.
“For you bring bad news,” said she--“I see it in your face. Tell me the
worst.”
Dudleigh mournfully shook his head.
“You have not found him, then?”
“No.”
“But you must have heard something about him. He is at least alive, is
he not?”
“I don't know even that.”
“What! has any thing happened to him?”
“Not that I know of. But he has started on a long and perilous
excursion; and whether he will ever return or not is more than I can
say.”
“Then there is no hope,” said Edith, in a voice of despair.
Dudleigh was silent for a time.
“I will tell you all,” he replied at length. “When I left you I went at
once to Marseilles. I called on Sir Lionel's agents there, but found
that they had heard nothing from him whatever. They said that when he
last left that city he had gone to Turkey. I then set off for
Constantinople, and spent a week there, trying to find some traces of
him. At the British Embassy they said that he had only remained one day
in the city, and had then gone in his yacht, which he had brought with
him, on a cruise in the Black Sea. But whether he had returned or not no
one knew. At last I met with a merchant who knew him, and he told me
that he had returned and gone to Athens. I went to Athens, and found
that he had been there at one of the hotels, the landlord of which
informed me that he had spent three days there and had left for parts
unknown. I left letters at each of these places, and sent others to
Smyrna, Beyrout, Jaffa, and Alexandria. Then I returned to Marseilles.
There, to my surprise, I learned that, a few days after I left, they had
heard from Sir Lionel, who was in Alexandria, and about to start on the
maddest expedition that was ever heard of--a journey up the Nile, into
the inaccessible regions of Central Africa--to try to discover the
sources of that river. He simply announced to his agents that all his
preparations were completed, and that he would leave immediately. What
could I do then? I did the only thing there was to be done, and hurried
to Alexandria. Of course he had left the place before my letter reached
it; and I learned that from the rapid way in which he set out he must
already be far out of reach. Even then I would have gone after him, and
tracked him to the sources of the Nile themselves, if I had been able.
But I had no experience in travel of that kind. I couldn't manage a band
of Arabs, for I didn't know a word of their language, and of course I
could not stop to study it. That idea would have been absurd. Besides,
other reasons had weight with me, and so I came reluctantly back.”
“Africa! the sources of the Nile!” exclaimed Edith, dolefully. “I can't
understand why he should have chosen those places.”
“Well, it is no new idea. It is a thing that he has had in his mind for
years. I have heard him talk of it long ago. I remember hearing him,
once say that the only chance now remaining by which a man could gain
brilliant distinction was the discovery of the sources of the Nile.
Every other part of the world, he said, is known.”
“How long should you think he might be absent on such a journey?” asked
Edith, anxiously.
“How long? Ah! Miss Dalton, so long that it should not be thought of.
Years must elapse before he returns.”
“Years!”
“Yes--if he ever does return,” said Dudleigh, in a mournful voice. “With
him now the question is not, When will he return? but rather, Will he
ever return? It is, as you must know, a most desperate and hopeless
undertaking. For thousands of years men have tried that journey, and
failed.”
“But may he not be baffled and turn back? There is some hope in that.
He will find out that it is impossible.” And Edith for a moment grasped
at that thought.
“You will think me one of Job's comforters,” said Dudleigh, with a
melancholy smile. “But I think it is a poor mark of friendship to hide
the truth. It is better for you to know all now. The fact is, there
would be some hope of his return if he were any other than Sir Lionel
Dudleigh. But being what he is, he will follow his purpose to the end.
He is a man of unflinching courage and inflexible determination. More
than this, he announced to his friends before he left that he would
either bring back the truth about the sources of the Nile, or else he
would not come back at all. So now he has not only his resolution to
impel him, but his pride also.”
“This hope, then, fails me utterly,” said Edith, after a long pause.
“I fear so.”
“He is, in fact, the same as dead.”
“Yes, as far as you are concerned, and your present needs.”
“This is terrible!”
“Miss Dalton, I do not know what to say. I can only say that my heart
aches for you. I delayed on the road, because I could not bear to bring
this news to you. Then I wrote a letter, and thought of sending that,
but I feared you might not get it. I could not bear to see you in
sorrow.”
“You, at least, Lieutenant Dudleigh,” said Edith, earnestly, “have acted
toward me like a true friend and a true gentleman. No one could have
done more. It is some consolation to know that every thing which was
possible has been done.”
There was now a long pause. Each one was lost in thought. Edith's sad
face was turned toward Dudleigh, but she did not notice him. She was
wrapped in her own thoughts, and wondering how long she could endure the
life that now lay before her.
“Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh at length, in a mournful voice, “I have to
leave at once to join my regiment, for my leave is up, and it may be
some time before I see you again.”
He paused.
Edith looked at him earnestly, fearful of what she thought might be
coming. Would it be a confession of love? How strong that love must be
which had prompted him to such devotion! And yet she could not return
it? Yet if he said any thing about it, what could she say? Could she
refuse one who had done so much, one who loved her so deeply, one who
was the only friend now left her?
“It is heart-breaking to leave you here, Miss Dalton,” he continued,
“among unscrupulous enemies. When I am away I shall be distracted by a
thousand fears about you. How can you endure this life? And yet I might
do something to save you from it. My own life is at your disposal. Do
you wish to be free now? Will you have that gate opened, and fly?”
Edith said not a word. She was filled with extreme agitation. Fly! Did
that mean to fly with him? to escape with a lover? and then--what?
“If you wish to escape now, at this moment, Miss Dalton, all that you
have to do is to go out with me. I am armed. If there is any resistance,
I can force a way through. The first man that dares to bar the way
dies. As for me, if I fall, I shall ask nothing more.”
And saying this, Dudleigh looked at Edith inquiringly.
But Edith faltered. Her horror of bloodshed was great. Was her
situation so desperate that she could sacrifice a human life to gain her
freedom? Perhaps that life might be Dudleigh's. Could she risk the life
of the man who had done so much for her? She could not. No, after all,
she shrank from gaining her freedom at such a risk.
Then, again, if she were free, where could she go? She knew now how
utterly forlorn she was. Miss Plympton was gone, and Sir Lionel was
gone. There were none left. She could not live without money, and all
her vast property was under the control of another. Dudleigh had said
nothing about love either: and she was grateful for his delicacy. Did
he intend in his deep devotion to support her himself, or what did he
intend?
“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?”
“I don't know.”
“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.
Dudleigh rose to go.
“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.
Soon after he left.
* * * * *