The Living Link Part 22

"When you speak of trouble," said she, "I think it is I who will give trouble to him rather than undergo it from him."

"Oh, well--either way," said Mowbray, "there would be trouble, and that is what I wish to avoid."

"Gentlemen are not usually so timid about encountering trouble on behalf of a lady," said Edith, coldly.

"Oh, well, you know, if it were ordinary trouble I wouldn't mind it, but this is legal trouble. Why, before I knew where I was I might be imprisoned, and how would I like that?"

"Not very well, as I can testify," said Edith.

"Believe me, Miss Dalton," said Mowbray, with a desperate effort to appear earnest and devoted, "there is nothing that I would not do for you, and I feel exceedingly pained that you are not content with your present position; but you see I do not want to put myself in the clutches of the law if I can help it. Wiggins is an enemy of mine, as I told you, and only tolerates me here because he dare not prevent me--neither he nor his man; but--ah--you know--that is--I mean--he--ah--he watches me very closely, you know, and if I were to do any thing that he could lay hold of, he would be very glad to do so, and put me to trouble and expense--no end."

Here Edith understood once more a profession of enmity against Wiggins, but whether it was real or not she could not tell. She believed, rather, that it was pretended.

"Oh, I beg of you to make no more excuses," said she. "Your explanations are quite satisfactory."

"I have had trouble enough from lawyers," continued Mowbray, "and don't want to have any more."

"That is quite prudent in you, and careful."

"The first thing that a man of the world learns, Miss Dalton," said the captain, in a confidential tone, "is to take care of himself. That is a lesson that I have learned by bitter experience, and I have resolved, among other things, and above all, never, under any circ.u.mstances, to put myself within the grasp of the lawyers; and if you only knew what bother I've had, you wouldn't blame me."

"I fear that I must have given you great pain, then," said Edith, "by even hinting at such a thing as taking my part and helping me. You feel so strongly about your personal safety that you must have been deeply agitated at such a proposal from me."

"Oh, well," said the captain, not choosing to notice the sarcasm of Edith's tone, "one grows wiser from experience, you know, and mine has been a bitter one. I would gladly open your gates for you, I a.s.sure you, if I could do it without danger, and if Wiggins had no authority; but as it is, I really do not see how I can possibly interfere."

"Well, for that matter," said Edith, "if it were not for Wiggins, I suppose I could open the gates for myself, and so I could save you even that trouble."

Mowbray made no reply to this, but merely stroked his mustache.

"After all," said he at last, "I don't see why you should be so discontented here. There are many who would be glad to live as you do, in so magnificent a house, with such n.o.ble grounds. You have every thing that you want. Why you should be so discontented I can not imagine. If you did get out, and live in the village, you would not like it. It's not a pleasant place. For my part I would much rather live where you do than where I do. If you would confine your attention to this place, and give up all ideas of getting away, you might be as happy as the day is long."

Saying this, the captain looked at Edith to see the effect of his words.

Edith was looking at him with a very strange expression, something like what may appear in the face of the naturalist at discovering an animal of some new species--an expression of interest and surprise and curiosity.

"So those are your sentiments?" she said; and that was all.

"Yes," said the captain.

"Well," said Edith, "it may be my misfortune, but I think differently."

"At any rate," said the captain, in a more animated tone, "since we can not agree in this discussion, why not drop it? Will you not ride with me about the park? I'm sure I like the park very well. I have not become so tired of it as you have. I have a very nice lady's horse, which is quite at your disposal."

At this request Edith was silent for a few moments. The man himself grew more abhorrent to her, if possible, every moment; but her desire to find out what his purposes were, and her hope of making use of him still, in spite of present appearances, made her think that it might be best to accept his offer.

"Oh, well," said she, "I have no objection, since you choose to subject me to such limitations, and I suppose I must add that I thank you."

"Don't speak of thanks, Miss Dalton," said Mowbray. "Let me say rather that I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Two days after this Mowbray again called on Edith. This time, in addition to his own horse, he brought another with a lady's saddle, and was followed by the Newfoundland dog. Edith was soon dressed for the ride, and joined Mowbray in the drawing-room. As they went out the dog was sitting on the portico, and leaped forward joyfully at the sight of his master, but suddenly retreated in fear.

"It's all very well, Miss Dalton," said Mowbray, "for them to talk about cruelty to animals, but the only way you can make them fond of you is by fear. See how that dog loves me. And why? Because I beat him."

There was something in these words, and in the tone in which they were spoken, that afforded Edith a new view of Mowbray's character. There were a ferocity and a cruelty there which were quite in keeping with the paltriness and meanness which he had already evinced. But Edith kept silence. In a few moments they were mounted, and rode away side by side.

As they turned the corner of the Hall Edith saw a face among the trees--white, solemn, watchful, stern--and the sight gave her a strange shock, for it was the face of Wiggins. It seemed to her at that moment that this man must hate Mowbray, for the glance which he gave was by no means that of a friend or confederate. Mowbray might, therefore, have spoken the truth when he said that Wiggins hated him, and if so, he might now be dreading the presence of this unwelcome guest. This thought was not unpleasant, for though Mowbray could not be a friend, she thought it not a bad subst.i.tute that he was at least an enemy of Wiggins.

The consequence was that she really enjoyed the ride; and Mowbray, seeing her in good spirits, thought that it arose from more favorable inclinations toward himself, and exerted himself to please. They rode at a rapid pace through the long avenues, under magnificent overarching trees, and over fields and meadows. Mowbray was a fine horseman, and Edith had been accustomed to riding from childhood, and liked nothing better than to rush along at headlong speed. She felt exhilaration and enthusiasm such as she had not known for a long time. As she looked at Mowbray's splendid figure she could not help regretting that a man with such rare physical advantages should have, after all, but a craven spirit. Was it, then, she thought, altogether fear that prevented him from a.s.sisting her to escape? The idea seemed absurd. There must be some reason of a different kind. She felt certain that he was an unprincipled villain, and that he had some designs of his own upon her. What they were she could not imagine. If he wished to gain her hand, he had certainly taken a singular way to make himself agreeable. He was cruel, cynical, mean, and sordid, and took no pains to conceal this. He had advised her to submit to imprisonment, and had refused to help her in any way. What his designs could possibly be she could not conjecture.

During the ride but little was said. Mowbray was not talkative at any time, and on the present occasion he confined himself to remarks which he intended to be amiable and agreeable. To these Edith made civil replies. At last they rode back to the Hall, and Mowbray prepared to dismount.

"Are you going?" said Edith. "For my part I should rather not dismount just yet. It is too dull in the house. I would rather ride a little distance with you, and walk back."

At this Mowbray looked at her in silence, and with a perplexed expression on his countenance.

Edith calmly waited for him to start.

"Miss Dalton," said he at length, "I really do not know--" And then he paused.

"I beg your pardon," said Edith.

"You see," said Mowbray, "I don't know about your riding any more."

"Why, surely," said Edith, "you are not going to refuse your horse for a few minutes longer?"

Mowbray looked gloomily at her, and then started off. Edith rode by his side, and they both kept silence until they reached the park gate.

The porter came out, but on seeing Edith he stopped.

"It's all right," said Edith. "You see I am with Captain Mowbray."

Mowbray looked deeply perplexed, and as he said nothing, the porter began to open the gate.

"Stop," said Mowbray.

"What!" cried Edith. "Captain Mowbray, what do you mean?"

"You must not go out," said Mowbray.

"I thought you were only going as far as the gate, and would walk back.

You must not try to follow me."

"Must not?" cried Edith, whom the hope of escape had roused to intense excitement. "Do you say that to me?"

"Yes," said Mowbray.

"What right have you?" said Edith, haughtily. And then turning to the porter, she said, imperatively, "Open that gate at once."

But the obdurate porter did not obey her now any more than before.