“It's a lie—an infernal lie!” said Leon, in a hoarse 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 assertion 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.”