Wiggins paused, and raised his head, which had been bent forward for a few moments past, looked at Edith with a softer light in his solemn eyes, and said, in a low voice, which had a wonderful sweetness in its intonation,
“Your father.”
Edith looked at him earnestly for a moment, affected in spite of herself by his look and by his voice; but suddenly the remembrance of her wrongs drove off completely her momentary emotion.
“Do you think my father would have made you my guardian,” said she, “if he had suspected what you were going to do with me?”
“I solemnly assure you that he did know, and that he did approve.”
At this Edith smiled. Wiggins now seemed too methodical for a madman, and she began to understand that he was assuming these solemn airs, so as to make an impression upon her. Having made up her mind to this, she determined to question him further, so as to see what more he proposed to do.
“Your father,” said Wiggins, “was my friend; and I will do for you whatever I would have done for him.”
“I have no doubt of that,” said Edith. “Indeed, you are doing for me now precisely what I have reason to understand you did for him.”
“I do not comprehend you,” said Wiggins.
“It is of no consequence,” said Edith. “We will let it pass. Let us return to the subject. You assert that you are my guardian. Does that give you the right to be my jailer—to confine me here, to cut me off from all my friends?”