worse."

At this Mrs. Dunbar stared at Edith with the same horror in her eyes
which Wiggins had lately shown.

"Crime?" she repeated. "Guilt? Punishment? Oh, Heavens! Has it come to
this? This is terrible. Girl," she continued, with a frown, "you don't
know the dreadful nature of those words. You are a marplot. You have
come home to ruin every thing. But I thought so," she murmured to
herself. "I told him so. I said it would be ruin, but he would have his
way. And now--" The remainder of her remarks was inaudible. Suddenly
her manner changed. Her anger gave way once more to entreaty.

"Oh!" she said, "can nothing persuade you that we are your friends?
Trust us--oh, trust us! You will soon learn how we love you. He only
thinks of you. You are the final aim of all his plans."

Edith gave a light laugh. That she was the final aim of Wiggins's plans
she did not doubt. She saw now that plan clearly, as she thought. It was
to gain control of her for purposes of his own in connection with the
estate. Under such circumstances Mrs. Dunbar's entreaties seemed silly,
and to make any answer was absurd. She turned away and sat down at the
table. As for Mrs. Dunbar, she left the room.

Night came. Edith did not sleep; she could not. The day had been the
most eventful one of her life. The thought that she was a prisoner was
terrible. She could only sustain herself by the hope that Miss Plympton
would save her. But this hope was confronted by a dark fear which
greatly distressed her. It might take time for Miss Plympton to do any
thing toward releasing her. She knew that the law worked slowly: she did