Edith murmured a few words in reply, and then they walked together at a
slow pace along the avenue. Edith did not care to go back to the Hall,
where all was so gloomy, but preferred the fresh pure air, and the
cheering face of nature.

As they walked on together Edith recounted the events of her life since
she had last seen him. Now all her long pent-up feelings burst forth
without restraint. At last she had some one to whom she could confide
her sorrows, and she found it sweet to talk to one whom she knew to be
so full of sympathy. To all this Dudleigh listened with the profoundest
attention, and with visible agitation.

In all that she said and in all her manner Edith freely expressed the
joy that she felt at once more meeting with a friend so tried, so true,
so valued, in whom she could trust so implicitly, and from whom she
could find sympathy. She had struggled so long in silence and in
loneliness that Dudleigh's sympathy seemed doubly sweet.

When she ceased a long silence followed. Dudleigh's agitation still
continued. Several times he looked at her wistfully, inquiringly,
doubtfully, as if about to speak, and each time he hesitated. But at
last, with a strong effort, he spoke.

"I must say it, Miss Dalton," said he. "I am compelled to. I came here
this day--for the sole purpose of saying--something which--you--may be
unwilling to hear. I have hesitated long, and staid away longer on this
account, yet I must say it now. You are in a fearful position, Miss
Dalton. You are in the power of an unprincipled and a desperate man. I
feel for you most deeply. You are always in my thoughts. In order to
assist you I have done all that I could. I do not wish to make any