That interview with the lawyer left Edith in a state of the deepest dejection. She had certainly not anticipated any thing like this. She expected that measures would at once be taken to carry on a contest with Wiggins, and give her her lawful rights, and above all her freedom. It never for a moment entered her mind to question the truth of a single statement that Barber had made. His whole communication with her was of the most business-like character, as it seemed to her, and she thought he must be eminent in his profession, or else Dudleigh would not have employed him. And this was the end of all that hope in which she had been indulging! Her freedom now seemed farther removed than ever. How could Sir Lionel ever be found? According to Dudleigh, he lived the life of a wanderer, and left no trace behind him. It was hard for her to think that her only hope depended upon finding him.

On the following day Dudleigh came, looking as calm and as unruffled as usual.

“Barber has gone back,” said he. “I knew before what he was going to tell you. I had not the heart to tell you myself, or even to be here when he was telling you.”

“It might have saved me some disappointment if you had told me.”

“But the disappointment would have been as great, and I had not the heart to inflict sorrow myself upon you! I know, after Barber had explained it to me, how I felt; and I can form some idea of the nature of your feelings.”

“So there is nothing to be done,” said Edith, with a sigh.

“Pardon me, there is very much indeed to be done, though whether it will result in any thing remains to be seen.”

“What can I do?”

“Do? Why, as Barber said, hunt up Sir Lionel.”

“I'll never find him.”

“Yes, you can.”

“How?”

“By searching, of course. And that is what I have come about now.”

“Have you thought of any thing new?”

“No, nothing. I merely came to make a proposal.”

“What is it?” asked Edith, languidly; for now there seemed no chance for any thing.

“It is this,” said Dudleigh. “I propose, if you will allow me, to go myself.”

“You!” exclaimed Edith, in great surprise.

“Yes.”

“But can you obtain leave to go? You have to go abroad, won't you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But can you leave your regiment?”

“Oh yes. I can get leave of absence for as long a time as will be needed for that, I think, without difficulty. In fact, before leaving London, as soon as I heard Barber's opinion, I put in my request at once for two months' leave, and I have every reason to believe that they will allow it. I have one or two influential friends, you know.”

“And will you really go? asked Edith, in tones of deep feeling, with all her gratitude evident in her tone and expression.

“Yes, if you will allow me.”

“I?—allow you? I am only too glad to have a friend who is willing to undertake such a thing for me in my distress.”

“There is nothing, Miss Dalton, which I would not undertake for you.”

“You are overwhelming me with obligations,” said Edith. “What you have already done is more than I can ever repay.”

“Do not speak of obligations,” said Dudleigh, earnestly. “My best reward is the thought that I may have given you even a temporary relief.”

“You have given me much happiness,” said Edith, earnestly; “and if it proves to be only temporary it will not be your fault. You overwhelm me with a sense of obligation.”

“Now really, Miss Dalton, if you talk in that way, you will make me feel ashamed. After all, what have I done? Nothing more than any gentleman would do. But do not say a word about it again. Let it be taken for granted that I do this from a selfish motive—simply to please myself, you know; simply because I love—to do it.”

Dudleigh spoke in his usual quiet way, without any particular ardor, although once or twice his voice grew more earnest than usual. Edith said nothing. She felt a little embarrassed, but the self-possession of Dudley was perfect; he hinted strongly at love, but seemed not at all like an ardent lover. He looked and acted simply like a friend; and as Edith needed a friend above all things, she was glad to accept his services.

“My present plan,” said he, “can be easily explained. Sir Lionel seems to be somewhere about the Mediterranean. Any letters that are sent to him have to be directed to Messrs. Chatellon, Comeaux, and Co., Marseilles, who forward them to him. I have already written to these gentlemen, asking where he is; but when they sent their reply they did not know. They stated, however, that on hearing from him they would let me know. But to wait for an answer from these gentlemen would be too great a trial for your patience. You cannot be satisfied, nor could I unless something is being done. It would simply kill you to wait here, day after day, week after week, month after month, for letters that would never come. Nothing is so terrible. You must send some one. Now I think that the best one you can send is myself, and I hope I speak without vanity. No mere hireling can go on this service. The one who goes should have different motives, and for my part I should feel the search to have a personal interest, and should work for you as I would for myself.”

“Oh, Lieutenant Dudleigh,” said Edith, “there is no need for me to say how I should feel about a search made by you. I refrain from expressions of gratitude, since you forbid them; and so I do not know what to say.”

“Say nothing, then, and—I do not like to say it, but I must—hope for nothing. If you hope, you may be disappointed. If you do not hope, you can not be. But in any case, whether you are disappointed or not, remember this—that in spite of these musty lawyers, if the worst comes to the worst you have one steadfast friend, and that if you say the word I will force a way for you through those gates. If you ever feel discouraged, remember that. It is a great preventive against despair to know that you have an alternative of some kind. And now I will take my departure, for the train will leave soon, and I must go at once.”