The Living Link Part 44

"Oh yes," said Leon, with a laugh. "A good idea that, when the guilty party was himself."

"It was not himself," said Wiggins, "and before long the world shall know who it was, for that is the one business of my life since my return, to which I have sacrificed all other concerns. In my attention to this I have even neglected Miss Dalton."

"She does not appear to think that you have neglected her," said Leon, with a sneer.

To this Wiggins paid no attention.

"Dalton," said he, "told me all before he died. He thought of his daughter, and though he had suffered himself, yet he thought on his death-bed that it would be a sin to leave to her such a legacy of shame.

It was this that broke his obstinate silence, and made him tell his secret to me. And here, Leon Dudleigh, is a thing in which you are concerned.

"I!" exclaimed Leon, in astonishment, not unmingled with alarm.

"I will tell you presently. I will simply remark now that I am following out his wishes, and am working for Miss Dalton, as he himself would have worked, to redeem her name."

"The name is hers no longer," said Leon.

"She seems to give you a precious hard time of it too, I should say, and does not altogether appreciate your self-denying and wonderfully disinterested efforts."

"I have not treated her with sufficient consideration," said Wiggins. "I misunderstood her character. I began altogether wrong. I see now that I ought to have given her more of my confidence, or, better yet, that I ought not to have brought her here till the work was done. Well," he added, with a sigh, "my chief consolation is that it will be all right in the end."

"This is all rubbish," said Leon. "You are not what you pretend to be.

You are not her guardian. You are an interloper and a swindler. You shall remain here no longer. I am her husband, and I order you off the premises at once."

"You are not her husband, and I am her guardian," said Wiggins, calmly.

"I was appointed by her father on his death-bed."

"I don't believe it. Besides, your name is not Wiggins at all."

"How do you know? You know nothing."

[Ill.u.s.tration: DOTARD! DO YOU TALK OF VENGEANCE?]

"I know Wiggins."

"Wiggins of Liverpool, perhaps, but there are more Wigginses in the world than that."

"A court of law will show that--"

"You will not go to a court of law. That is my task. And mark me,"

continued Wiggins, with thrilling emphasis, "when a court of law takes up the subject of the Dalton estates or the Dalton name, then it will be the turn for you and yours to tremble."

"Tremble!" exclaimed Leon, scornfully.

"Yes," repeated Wiggins. "Your father--"

"Pooh!" said Leon.

"When Dalton died," continued Wiggins, "he left his papers. Among them was a letter of which he himself told me. If he had produced that letter on his trial, he would have escaped, and the guilty man would have been punished. The letter was written by the real forger. It inclosed the forged check to Dalton, asking him to draw the money and pay certain pressing debts. The writer of that letter was your own father--Lionel Dudleigh!"

"It's a lie!" cried Leon, starting up, with terrible excitement in his face--an excitement, too, which was mingled with unspeakable dread.

"It's true," said Wiggins, calmly, "and the letter can be proved."

"It can not."

"It can, and by the best of testimony."

"I don't believe it."

"Perhaps not; but there is something more. With the murder trial you are no doubt familiar. In fact, I take it for granted that you are familiar with Dalton's case _in all its bearings_," added Wiggins, in a tone of deep meaning. "In that murder trial, then, you are aware that a Maltese cross was found on the scene of murder, and created much excitement. You know what part it had in the trial. I now inform you that I have proof which can show beyond a doubt that this Maltese cross was the property of your father--Lionel Dudleigh."

"It's a lie--an infernal lie!" said Leon, in a hoa.r.s.e voice. His excitement had now become terrible.

"It's true--all true," continued Wiggins. "It can all be proved by a witness that can not be impeached. Yes, Leon Dudleigh, you yourself would be forced to accept the testimony of that witness."

"What witness?" said Leon, in a voice that was scarcely audible from conflicting emotions.

Wiggins looked at him earnestly, and then said, in a low, deep, solemn voice,

"Leon Dudleigh, that witness is _your mother!_"

The other started as though he had been shot.

"My mother!" he almost screamed--"my mother! why, she--she is dead--dead long ago."

"When did you find that out?" said Wiggins.

"She's dead! she's dead!" repeated Leon, as though by a.s.sertion he could make it true.

"She is not dead," said Wiggins, in an awful voice, "though all these years she has lived a living death. She is not dead. She is alive, and she now stands ready, when the hour comes, though with an agonized heart, to give that testimony which, years ago, she dared not and could not give. She has allowed the innocent to suffer, and the guilty to go free, but now she will do so no longer. The work upon which I have been engaged is almost complete. The preparations are made, and this very day I am going to Liverpool to perform the last acts that are necessary toward vindicating the memory of Dalton, establishing his innocence, and punishing the guilty. As for you, you can do nothing here, and I have resolved to punish you for what you have done. I shall show you no mercy. If you want to save yourself, leave the country, for otherwise I swear you will never be safe from my vengeance."

"Vengeance!" said Leon, in low, menacing tones. "Dotard! do _you_ talk of vengeance? You do not understand the meaning of that word. Wait till you see what I can do."

And with these words he left the room.

That evening Wiggins left for Liverpool.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

THE HUSBAND'S LAST APPEAL.

Early on the following day Edith received a request from Leon for another interview. This request was acceptable in every way, for the last interview had been no more satisfactory to her than to him, and she could not help hoping that something more definite might result from a new one. She therefore went down, and found him already in the room.