“Well, not very close. I belong to the same family, it is true; but Sir Lionel is more to me than a relation. He is my best friend and benefactor.” “And do you know any thing about him?” cried Edith, in irrepressible eagerness. “Can you tell me any thing?” “Oh yes,” said Dudleigh, with a smile. “I certainly ought to be able to do that. I suppose I know as much about him as any one. But what is the meaning of all this that I find here,” he continued, suddenly changing the conversation--“that ruffian of a porter--the gates boarded up and barred so jealously? It seems to me as if your friends should bring pistols whenever they come to make a call.” Dudleigh had a gay, open, careless tone. His voice was round and full, yet still it was effeminate. In spite of this, however, Edith was, on the whole, pleased with him. The remote relationship which he professed to bear to Sir Lionel, his claim that Sir Lionel was his friend, and the name that he gave himself, all made him seem to Edith like a true friend. Of Sir Lionel and his family she knew nothing whatever; she knew not whether he had ever had any children or not; nor did she ever know his disposition; but she had always accustomed herself to think of him as her only relative, and her last resort, so that this man's acquaintance with him made him doubly welcome. “What you mention,” said she, in answer to his last remark, “is a thing over which I have not the smallest control. There is a man here who has contrived to place me in so painful a position that I am a prisoner in my own grounds.” “A prisoner!” said Dudleigh, in a tone of the deepest surprise. “I do not understand you.” “He keeps the gates locked,” said Edith, “refuses to let me out, and watches every thing that I do.” “What do you mean? I really can not understand you. No one has any right to do that. How does he dare to do it? He couldn't treat you worse if he were your husband.” “Well, he pretends that he is my guardian, and declares that he has the same right over me as if he were my father.” “But, Miss Dalton, what nonsense this is! You can not be in earnest--and yet you must be.” “In earnest!” repeated Edith, with vehemence. “Oh, Lieutenant Dudleigh, this is the sorrow of my life--so much so that I throw myself upon the sympathy of a perfect stranger. I am desperate, and ready to do any thing to escape--” “Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh, solemnly, “your wrongs must be great indeed if this is so. Your guardian! But what then? Does that give him the right to be your jailer?” “He takes the right.” “Who is this man?” “His name is Wiggins.”