The Living Link | Page 8

man, or to say any
thing that might lead to his discovery. Actuated by a lofty sense of honor, a chivalrous
sentiment of loyalty and friendship, he kept the secret with obstinate fidelity; and the
almost frantic appeals of his counsel, who saw in the discovery of the real offender the
only chance for the escape of the accused, and who used every possible argument to
shake his resolve, availed not in the slightest degree to shake his firmness. They
employed detectives, and instituted inquiries in all directions in the endeavor to find out

who might be this friend for whom Dalton was willing to risk honor and life; but their
search was completely baffled. Dalton's silence was therefore taken as an evidence of
guilt, and his refusal to confess on a friend was regarded as a silly attempt to excite public
sympathy. When the counsel ventured to bring this forward to the jury, and tried to
portray Dalton as a man who chose rather to suffer than to say that which might bring a
friend to destruction, it was regarded as a wild, Quixotic, and maudlin piece of
sentimentalism on the part of said counsel, and was treated by the prosecution with
unspeakable scorn and ridicule. Under such circumstances the result was inevitable:
Frederick Dalton was declared guilty, and sentenced to transportation for life.
Among the notes which had been written by Miss Plympton, Edith was very forcibly
struck by some which referred to John Wiggins.
"Who is this J.W.?" was written in one place. "How did F.D. become acquainted with
him?"
In another place, where Wiggins gave his testimony about the note, was written: "Where
was J.W. during that hour? Had he gone to Everton himself?"
And again: "J.W. was the friend of F.D., and wished to save him. Might he not have done
more?"
Again: "Mark well! J.W. is a Liverpool man. H. was a Liverpool man. Had F.D. ever
heard of even the name of H. before the forgery? What was the nature of the dealings
between F.D. and J.W.?"
Again, when Dalton's silence was so sharply commented on and urged as proof of his
guilt, there occurred the following: "If F.D. was silent, why did not J.W. open his mouth?
Must he not have known at least something? Could he not have set the authorities upon
the track of the real criminal, and thus have saved F.D.?"
Again: "The Maltese cross did not belong to Dalton. He had ordered it to be made. For
whom? Was it not for this same friend for whom he was now suffering? Was not this
friend the murderer? Has he not thrown suspicion upon F.D. by that writing in blood?
The same one who committed the murder wrote the false charge, and left the Maltese
cross."
Other notes of similar character occurred in various places, but those which impressed
Edith most were the following:
"F.D. was evidently betrayed by his false friend. Was not that false friend the real
murderer? Did he not contrive to throw on F.D. the suspicion of the murder? Might not
the forgery itself from the very beginning have been part of a plan to ruin F.D.? But why
ruin him? Evidently to gain some benefit. Now who has been more benefited by the ruin
of F.D.? Whoever he is, must he not he be the murderer and the false friend?"
Again, a little further on: "Has any one gained any thing from the ruin of F.D. but J.W.?
Has not J.W. ever since had control of Dalton property? Is he not rich now? Has not the

ruin of F.D. made the fortune of J.W.?"
Such was the substance of the papers which Edith perused. They were voluminous, and
she continued at her task all through that night, her heart all the time filled with a
thousand contending emotions.
Before her mind all the time there was the image of her father in the judgment-hall. There
he stood, the innocent man, betrayed by his friend, and yet standing there in his simple
faith and truth to save that friend, obstinate in his self-sacrificing fidelity, true to faith
when the other had proved himself worthless, suffering what can only be suffered by a
generous nature as the hours and the days passed and the end approached, and still the
traitor allowed him to suffer. And there was the hate and scorn of man, the clamor for
vengeance from society, the condemnation of the jury who had prejudged his case, the
sneer of the paid advocate, the scoff of the gaping crowd, to whom the plea of noblesse
oblige and stainless honor and perfect truth seemed only maudlin sentimentality and
Quixotic extravagance.
All these thoughts were in Edith's mind as she read, and these feelings swelled within her
indignant