JAILER AND CAPTIVE.

On the following day Edith felt stronger, and calling Mrs. Dunbar, she
sent her to Wiggins with a request that the latter should meet her in
the drawing-room. She then walked through the long hall on her way down
stairs. Every thing looked as it did before her illness, except that one
change had taken place which arrested her attention the moment she
entered the drawing-room.

Over the chimney-piece a portrait had been hung--a portrait in a large
gilt frame, which looked as though it had been painted but recently. It
was a portrait of Leon Dudleigh. On catching sight of this she felt as
if she had been rooted to the spot. She looked at it for a short time
with compressed lips, frowning brow, and clinched hands after which she
walked away and flung herself into a chair.

Wiggins was evidently in no hurry, for it was more than half an hour
before he made his appearance. Edith sat in her chair, waiting for his
approach. The traces of her recent illness were very visible in the
pallor of her face, and in her thin, transparent hands. Her large eyes
seemed larger than ever, as they glowed luminously from their cavernous
depths, with a darker hue around each, as is often seen in cases of
sickness or debility, while upon her face there was an expression of
profound sadness that seemed fixed and unalterable.

But in the tone with which she addressed Wiggins there was nothing like
sadness. It was proud, cold, stern, and full of bitterest hostility.

"I have sent for you," she began, "because you, Wiggins, are concerned
as much as I myself am in the issue of this business about which I am