“Is that the way you talk to _me_!” said Leon, in a tone of surprise. “Miss Dalton has been wronged enough,” said the other. “If you dare to annoy her further, or to harm a hair of her head, I solemnly declare that I will turn against you.” “You!” exclaimed Leon. “Yes, I.” “Why, you're as bad as I am--in fact, worse.” “Well, at any rate, it shall go no further. That I am resolved on.” “Look out,” cried Leon; “don't tempt me too far. I'll remember this, by Heaven! I'll not forget that you have threatened to betray me.” “I don't care. You are a coward, Leon, and you know it. You are afraid of that brave girl. Miss Dalton can take care of herself.” “Miss Dalton! Pooh!--Mrs. Dudleigh, you mean.” “Leon, you drive me to frenzy,” cried Lieutenant Dudleigh, in a wild, impatient voice. “And you--what are you!” cried Leon, morosely. “Are you not always tormenting me? Do you think that I'm going to stand you and your whims forever? Look out! This is more of a marriage than you think.” “Marriage!” cried the other, in a voice of scorn. “Never mind. I'll go with my wife,” said Leon. Edith had waited a few moments as this altercation arose, half hoping that in the quarrel between these two something might escape them which could give her some ray of hope, but she heard nothing of that kind. Yet as she listened to the voices of the two, contrasting so strangely in their tones, and to their language, which was so very peculiar, a strange suspicion came to her mind. Then she hurried away back to the Hall. “I'll go with my wife,” said Leon. “Coward and villain!” cried his companion. “Miss Dalton has a dagger. You're afraid of her. I'll go too, so that you may not annoy her.” Edith hurried away, and the others followed for a short distance, but she soon left them behind. She reached the little door at the east end. She passed through, and bolted it on the inner side. She hurried up to her rooms, and on reaching them fell fainting to the floor. * * * * * CHAPTER XXIX. THE WIFE OF LEON DUDLEIGH. Sickness and delirium came mercifully to Edith; for if health had continued, the sanity of the body would have been purchased at the expense of that of the mind. Mrs. Dunbar nursed her most tenderly and assiduously. A doctor attended her. For long weeks she lay in a brain-fever, between life and death. In the delirium that disturbed her brain, her mind wandered back to the happy days at Plympton Terrace. Once more she played about the beautiful shores of Derwentwater; once more she rambled with her school-mates under the lofty trees, or rode along through winding avenues. At time, however, her thoughts reverted to the later events of her life; and once or twice to that time of horror in the chapel.