Then she bade her servant put a light in the dining room, and returned to Lilian. Her look excited the sufferer's alarm.

"Has anything happened, Mrs. Wade?"

"Hush! Try to command yourself. He is here again; wishes to see me."

"He is here again?"

Lilian rose to her feet, and moaned despairingly.

"You won't let him come into this room? What does he want? He told us he would never come again. Is he seeking more money?"

"He sha'n't come in here. I'll see him as I did before."

As she spoke, a rat-tat sounded from without, and, having advised Lilian to lock the door, Mrs. Wade crossed to the other room. Northway entered, grave and nervous.

"I hope you will excuse my coming again," he began, as the widow regarded him with silent interrogation. "You spoke to me last time in such a very kind and friendly way. Being in a difficulty, I thought I couldn't do better than ask your advice."

"What is the difficulty, Mr. Northway?"

Her suave tone rea.s.sured him, and he seated himself. His real purpose in coming was to discover, if possible, whether Quarrier's position was still una.s.sailed. He had a vague sense that this Mrs. Wade, on whatever grounds, was sympathetically disposed to him; by strengthening the acquaintance, he might somehow benefit himself.

"First, I should like to know if all has gone smoothly since I went away?"

"Smoothly?--Quite, I think."

"It still seems certain that Mr. Quarrier will be elected to-morrow?"

"Very likely indeed."

"He looked about him, and smoothed his silk hat--a very different article from that he had formerly worn. Examining him, Mrs. Wade was amused at the endeavour he had made to equip himself like a gentleman."

"What else did you wish to ask me, Mr. Northway?"

"It's a point of conscience. If you remember, Mrs. Wade, it was you who persuaded me to give up all thought of parting those persons."

"I tried to do so," she answered, with a smile. "I thought it best for your interests as well as for theirs."

"Yes, but I fear that I had no right to do it. My conscience rebukes me."

"Does it, really?--I can't quite see"----

She herself was so agitated that features and voice would hardly obey her will. She strove to concentrate her attention upon Northway's words, and divine their secret meaning. His talk continued for awhile in the same strain, but confused, uncertain, rambling. Mrs. Wade found it impossible to determine what he aimed at; now and then she suspected that he had been drinking. At length he stood up.

"You still think I am justified in--in making terms with Mr. Quarrier?"

"What else are you inclined to do?" the widow asked, anxiously.

"I can't be sure yet what I shall eventually do. Perhaps you would let me see you again, when the election is over?"

"If you promise me to do nothing--but keep out of sight--in the meanwhile."

"Yes, I'll promise that," he said, with deliberation.

She was loth to dismiss him, yet saw no use in further talk. At the door he shook hands with her, and said that he was going into the town.

Lilian opened the door of the sitting-room.

"He has gone?"

Her companion nodded.

"Where?--What will he do?"

Mrs. Wade answered with a gesture of uncertainty, and sat down by the table, where she propped her forehead upon her hands. Lilian was standing, her countenance that of one distraught. Suddenly the widow looked up and spoke in a voice hoa.r.s.er than before.

"I see what he means. He enjoys keeping you both at his mercy. It's like an animal that has tasted blood--and if his desire is balked, he'll revenge himself in the other way."

"You think he has gone to Denzil?"

"Very likely. If not to-night, he will to-morrow. Will Mr. Quarrier pay him again, do you think?" She put the question in a tone which to Lilian sounded strange, all but hostile.

"I can't say," was the weary, distracted answer.

"Oh, I am sorry for you, Lilian!" pursued the other, in agitation, though again her voice was curiously harsh. "You will reproach yourself so if his life's purpose is frustrated! But remember, it's not your fault. It was he who took the responsibility from the first. It was he who chose to brave this possible danger. If the worst comes, you must strengthen yourself."

Lilian sank upon a chair, and leaned forward with stupefied gaze at the speaker.

"The danger is," pursued Mrs. Wade, in lower tones, "that he may be unjust--feel unjustly--as men are wont to. You--in spite of himself, he may feel that _you_ have been the cause of his failure. You must be prepared for that; I tell it you in all kindness. If he again consents to pay Northway, he will be in constant fear. The sense of servitude will grow intolerable--embarra.s.sing all he tries to do--all his public and private life. In that case, too, he _must_ sometimes think of you as in the way of his ambition. A most difficult task is before you--a duty that will tax all your powers. You will be equal to it, I have no doubt. Just now you see everything darkly and hopelessly, but that's because your health has suffered of late."

"Perhaps this very night," said Lilian, without looking at her companion, "he will tell people."

"He is more likely to succeed in getting money, and then he will keep the threat held over you. He seems to have come at this moment just because he knows that your fear of him will be keenest now. That will always be his aim--to appear with his threats just when a disclosure would be hardest to bear. But I suppose Mr. Quarrier will rather give up everything than submit to this. Oh, the pity! the pity!"

Lilian let her hands fall and sat staring before her.

She felt as though cast out into a terrible solitude. Mrs. Wade's voice came from a distance; and it was not a voice of true sympathy, but of veiled upbraiding. Unspeakably remote was the image of the man she loved, and he moved still away from her. A cloud of pain fell between her and all the kindly world.

In these nights of sleepless misery she had thought of her old home.

The relatives from whom she was for ever parted--her sister, her kind old aunt--looked at her with reproachful eyes; and now, in anguish which bordered upon delirium, it was they alone who seemed real to her; all her recent life had become a vague suffering, a confused consciousness of desire and terror. Her childhood returned; she saw her parents and heard them talk. A longing for the peace and love of those dead days rent her heart.

She could neither speak nor move. Torture born in the brain throbbed through every part of her body. But worse was that ghastly sense of utter loneliness, of being forsaken by human sympathy. The cloud about her thickened; it m.u.f.fled light and sound, and began to obscure even her memories.

For a long time Mrs. Wade had sat silent. At length she rose, glanced at Lilian, and, without speaking left the room.

She went upstairs and into her bed-chamber, and here stood for a few minutes in the dark, purposeless. Then she seated herself in a low chair that was by the bed side. For her, too, the past night had been one of painful watching; her nerves threatened danger if she stayed in the same room with Lilian. Here she could recover something of self-control, and think over the latest aspect of affairs.

Thus had she sat for nearly half an hour, when her reverie was broken by a sound from below. It was the closing of the front door. She sprang up and ran to the window, to see if any one pa.s.sed out into the road; but no figure became visible. The gate was closed; no one could have gone forth so quickly. A minute or two pa.s.sed, yet she heard and saw nothing.

Then she quickly descended the stairs. The door of the sitting-room was open; the room was vacant.