CHAPTER XX. — FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH
Edith slept but little that night. The prospect of escape agitated her whole being, and the new friend who had so unexpectedly appeared took up all her thoughts.
He was a little man most certainly, and Edith already caught herself thinking of him as “Little Dudleigh.” He had nothing whatever of the hero about him. Mowbray, as far as appearances went, far surpassed her new acquaintance in that respect. Still Edith felt bound to overlook or to excuse his slight frame, and in the effort to do this she recalled all the little men of history. She thought of a saying which she had once heard, that “all great men are small men.” This sentiment included under the head of little men Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, with others of the same class, for the list had evidently been made up by one who was himself a little man, and was anxious to enter a forcible protest against the scorn of his bigger brethren. On the present occasion the list of little heroes was so formidable that Edith was prepared to find in “Little Dudleigh” all she wished. Still, in spite of his generous offers, and his chivalrous proposal to put down his dead body for her to march over, she did not feel for him that admiration which such heroism deserved; and she even reproached herself for her lack of common gratitude, for in her high spirits at the prospect of escape, she caught herself more than once smiling at the recollection of “Little Dudleigh's” little ways, his primness, and effeminacy.
At about ten o'clock on the following day “Little Dudleigh” came back.
“That beggar at the gate,” said he, after the usual greetings, “looks very hard at me, but he doesn't pretend to hinder me from coming or going just yet, though what he may do in time remains to be seen.”
“Oh,” said Edith, “you must manage to get me out before Wiggins has a chance to prevent you from coming in.”
{Illustration: “I MUST USE THESE, THEN."}
“I hope so,” said Dudleigh. “Of course, Miss Dalton, as you may suppose, I have been thinking of you ever since I left you, and planning a thousand schemes. But I have made up my mind to this, and you must make up yours to the same. I am sorry, but it can not be avoided. I mean bloodshed.”
“Bloodshed!” said Edith, sadly.