“Why, you're married, that's all. You ought to know that by this time.”
“Away!” cried Edith, with a sharp cry. “Who are you? Dudleigh! Dudleigh! where are you? Will you not help me?”
“That's not very likely,” said the same voice, in a mocking tone. “His business is to help me.”
“Oh, my God! what is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, it's simple enough. It means that you're my wife.”
“Your wife! Oh, Dudleigh: oh, my friend! what does all this mean? Why do you not speak?”
But Dudleigh said nothing.
“I have no objections to explaining,” said the voice. “You're actually married to me. My name is not Mowbray. It's Leon Dudleigh, the individual that you just plighted your troth to. My small friend here is not Leon Dudleigh, whatever other Dudleigh he may call himself. He is the witness.”
“It's false!” cried Edith. “Lieutenant Dudleigh would never betray me.”
“Well, at any rate,” said Leon, “I happen to be the happy man who alone can claim you as his bride.”