“But wouldn't it be better for you to be present also?” said Edith. “I may require your advice.” “Thank you, Miss Dalton. I assure you I value most highly every expression of your confidence. But I think it will be better for you to see him alone. He will give you his card. His name is Barber. If I were to come with him, Wiggins might suspect. At the same time, I don't know, after all, but that I may change my mind and come with him. But in any case you may talk to him freely. He has not been idle, for he has already mastered your whole situation. You may trust him just as much as you trust me. You may, in fact, regard him the same as me.” “And he will be here to-morrow?” said Edith. “Yes.” “I know you hate expressions of gratitude,” said Edith, after a pause; “but I can only say that my own gratitude is beyond expression. You have given me hope--” “Say nothing about it,” said Dudleigh, interrupting her. “That will be the best thanks, though really I have done nothing to merit thanks. Duty and honor both impelled me to serve you, without mentioning--any--a--deeper and stronger feeling.” Edith again looked at the floor. She suspected the existence of this stronger feeling and did not altogether like to think of it. Her own feelings toward him were singularly cool, and she did not wish him to be otherwise. His general calmness of demeanor was very pleasant to her, and his occasional allusions to any deeper sentiment than common, few though they were, troubled her greatly. What if he should seek as his reward that which he surely had a right to hope for--her hand? Could she give it? On the other hand, could she have the heart to refuse it? The alternative was not pleasant. On the following day, while Edith was waiting in great impatience, a stranger came to the Hall to call upon her. The stranger was a small-sized man, with round shoulders, gray hair, bushy eyebrows, and sallow skin. He wore spectacles, his clothes were of good material, but rather loose fit, betokening one who was indifferent to dress. His boots were loose, his gloves also, and an umbrella which he carried, being without a band, had a baggy appearance, which was quite in keeping with the general style of this man's costume. He looked to Edith so much like a lawyer that she could not help wondering at the completeness with which one's profession stamps itself upon the exterior. “I am sent,” said the stranger, after a brief, stiff salutation, “by Lieutenant Dudleigh, to communicate with you about your present position. I take it for granted that we shall not be overheard, and propose to carry on this conversation in as low a tone as possible.” Saying this, the stranger took a quick, sharp glance through his spectacles around the room. His voice was dry and thin, his manner abrupt and stiff and business-like. Evidently he was a dried-up lawyer, whose whole life had been passed among parchments.