“It is a matter of great regret,” said he, “that I am forced to give pain to one for whom I entertain so much kindness, and even, let me add, affection. Had you made your return to this place a little less abruptly, you would have found, I am sure, a different reception, and your position would have been less unpleasant.” “Would you have allowed me my liberty,” asked Edith, “and the society of my friends, if I had delayed longer before my return? If so, let me go back now, and I will give you notice before coming here again.” Wiggins shook his head mournfully. “I am one,” said he, “who has had deeper sorrows than usually fall to the lot of man; yet none, I assure you--no, not one--has ever caused me more pain than my present false position toward you. Can you not place some confidence in me, and think that this is all for--for your good?” “You speak so plaintively,” said Edith, “that I should be touched, if your words were not belied by your acts. What do you think can compensate for the loss of liberty? Were you ever imprisoned? Did you ever have a jailer over you? Did you ever know what it was to be shut in with walls over which you could not pass, and to know that the jailer's eyes were always upon you? Wait till you have felt all this, and then you will understand how empty and idle all your present words must be.” While she said these words Wiggins sat as if he had been turned to stone. His eyes were fixed on her with a look of utter horror. His hands trembled. As she stopped he shuddered, and hastily looked behind him. Then another shudder passed through him. At last with a violent effort, he recovered something of his former calm. “God grant,” said he, “that you may never know what I have known of all that which you now mention!” His voice trembled as he spoke these words, and when he had said them he relapsed into silence. “Since you have invoked the name of the Deity,” said Edith, solemnly, “if you have any reverence for your Maker, I ask you now, in His name, by what right you keep me here.” “I am your--guardian,” said Wiggins, slowly; “your--guardian; yes,” he added, thoughtfully, “that is the word.” “My guardian! Who made you my guardian? Who had the right to put you over me?” 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.”