The Living Link: A Novel

by James De Mille

And thus, where there was so much need of mutual forgiveness and mutual consolation, each one became less a prey to remorse.

In the joy which he felt at thus gaining at last all his daughter's love, especially after the terrible misunderstanding that had divided her from him, Dalton had no thought for those grave dangers which surrounded both her and him. But to Edith these dangers still appeared, and they were most formidable. She could not forget that she was still liable to arrest on the most appalling of accusations, and that her father also was liable to discovery and re-arrest. Reginald had tried to banish her fears and inspire her with hope; but now that he was no longer near, her position was revealed, and the full possibility of her danger could no longer be concealed.

Danger there indeed was, danger most formidable, not to her only, but to all of them. Coward Sir Lionel might be, but a coward when at bay is dangerous, since he is desperate. Sir Lionel also was powerful, since he was armed with all the force that may be given by wealth and position, and in his despair his utmost resources would undoubtedly be put forth. Those despairing efforts would be aimed at all of them—all were alike threatened: herself on the old charge, her father as an escaped convict, and Reginald as a perjurer and a conspirator against the ends of justice. As to Lady Dudleigh, she knew not what to think, but she was aware of Reginald's fears about her and she shared them to the fullest extent.

In the midst of all this Edith received letter from Miss Plympton. She was just recovering, she said, from a severe illness, consequent on anxiety about her. She had heard the terrible tidings of her arrest, but of late had been cheered by the news of her release. The letter was most loving, and revealed all the affection of her “second mother.” Yet so true was Miss Plympton to the promise which she had made to Mr. Dalton, that she did not allude to the great secret which had once been disclosed to her.

Edith read the letter with varied feelings, and thought with an aching heart of her reception of that other letter. This letter, however, met with a different fate. She answered it at once, and told all about her father, concluding with the promise to go and visit her as soon as she could.

And now all her thoughts and hopes were centred upon Reginald. Where was he? Where was Lady Dudleigh? Had he found Leon? What would Sir Lionel do? Such were the thoughts that never ceased to agitate her mind.

He had been gone a whole week. She had heard nothing from him. Accustomed as she had been to see him every day for so long a time, this week seemed prolonged to the extent of a month; and as he had promised to write her under any circumstances, she could not account for his failure to keep that promise. His silence alarmed her. As day succeeded to day, and still no letter came, she became a prey to all those fearful fancies which may be raised by a vivid imagination, when one is in suspense about the fate of some dearly loved friend.

Her father, whose watchful love made him observant of every one of her varying moods, could not avoid noticing the sadness and agitation of her face and manner, and was eager to know the cause. This, however, Edith's modesty would not allow her to explain, but she frankly confessed that she was anxious. Her anxiety she attributed to her fears about their situation, and her dread lest something might be found out about the imposture of Reginald, or about her father's real character and personality. The fear was not an idle one, and Dalton, though he tried to soothe her, was himself too well aware of the danger that surrounded both of them to be very successful in his efforts.

All this time a steady improvement had been taking place in Dalton's health, and his recovery from his illness was rapid and continuous. It was Edith's love and care and sympathy which thus gave strength to him, and the joy which he felt in her presence was the best medicine for his afflictions.

Thus one day he was at last able to venture outside. It was something more than a week since Reginald had left. Edith was more anxious than ever, but strove to conceal her anxiety and to drown her own selfish cares under more assiduous attentions to that father whose whole being now seemed so to centre upon her. For this purpose she had persuaded him to leave the Hall, and come forth into the grounds; and the two were now walking in front of the Hall, around the pond, Edith supporting her father's feeble footsteps, and trying to cheer him by pointing out some improvements which ought to be made, while the old man, with his mind full of sweet peace, thought it happiness enough for him to lean on her loving arm and hear her sweet voice as she spoke those words of love which for so many years he had longed to hear.