“She does not appear to think that you have neglected her,” said Leon, with a sneer. To this Wiggins paid no attention. “Dalton,” said he, “told me all before he died. He thought of his daughter, and though he had suffered himself, yet he thought on his death-bed that it would be a sin to leave to her such a legacy of shame. It was this that broke his obstinate silence, and made him tell his secret to me. And here, Leon Dudleigh, is a thing in which you are concerned. “I!” exclaimed Leon, in astonishment, not unmingled with alarm. “I will tell you presently. I will simply remark now that I am following out his wishes, and am working for Miss Dalton, as he himself would have worked, to redeem her name.” “The name is hers no longer,” said Leon. “She seems to give you a precious hard time of it too, I should say, and does not altogether appreciate your self-denying and wonderfully disinterested efforts.” “I have not treated her with sufficient consideration,” said Wiggins. “I misunderstood her character. I began altogether wrong. I see now that I ought to have given her more of my confidence, or, better yet, that I ought not to have brought her here till the work was done. Well,” he added, with a sigh, “my chief consolation is that it will be all right in the end.” “This is all rubbish,” said Leon. “You are not what you pretend to be. You are not her guardian. You are an interloper and a swindler. You shall remain here no longer. I am her husband, and I order you off the premises at once.” “You are not her husband, and I am her guardian,” said Wiggins, calmly. “I was appointed by her father on his death-bed.” “I don't believe it. Besides, your name is not Wiggins at all.” “How do you know? You know nothing.” [Illustration: DOTARD! DO YOU TALK OF VENGEANCE?] “I know Wiggins.” “Wiggins of Liverpool, perhaps, but there are more Wigginses in the world than that.” “A court of law will show that--” “You will not go to a court of law. That is my task. And mark me,” continued Wiggins, with thrilling emphasis, “when a court of law takes up the subject of the Dalton estates or the Dalton name, then it will be the turn for you and yours to tremble.” “Tremble!” exclaimed Leon, scornfully. “Yes,” repeated Wiggins. “Your father--” “Pooh!” said Leon. “When Dalton died,” continued Wiggins, “he left his papers. Among them was a letter of which he himself told me. If he had produced that letter on his trial, he would have escaped, and the guilty man would have been punished. The letter was written by the real forger. It inclosed the forged check to Dalton, asking him to draw the money and pay certain pressing debts. The writer of that letter was your own father--Lionel Dudleigh!” “It's a lie!” cried Leon, starting up, with terrible excitement in his face--an excitement, too, which was mingled with unspeakable dread. “It's true,” said Wiggins, calmly, “and the letter can be proved.” “It can not.” “It can, and by the best of testimony.”