Told it rapidly, now and then confusedly, but with omission of nothing essential. So often she had reviewed her life, at successive stages of culture and self-knowledge. Every step had been debated in heart and conscience. She had so much to say, yet might not linger in the narration, and feared to seem eager in the excuse of what she had done. To speak of these things to one of her own sex was in itself a great relief, yet from time to time the recollection that she was betraying Denzil's secret struck her with cold terror. Was not this necessity a result of her weakness? A stronger woman would perhaps have faced the situation in some other way.
Mrs. Wade listened intently, and the story seemed to move her in no slight degree. Lilian, anxiously watching her face, found it difficult to interpret the look of suppressed excitement. Censure she could not read there; pain, if ever visible, merely flitted over brow and lips; at moments she half believed that her hearer was exulting in this defiance of accepted morality—what else could be the significance of that flash in the eyes; that quiver of the nostrils—all but a triumphant smile? They sat close to each other, Lilian in the low basket-chair, the widow on a higher seat, and when the story came to an end, their hands met.
"How can I save Denzil?" was Lilian's last word. "Anything—any sacrifice! If this becomes known, his whole life is ruined!"
Mrs. Wade pressed the soft, cold fingers, and kept a thoughtful silence.
"It's a strange coincidence," she said at length, "very strange that this should happen on the eve of the election."
"The secretmustbe kept until"——
Lilian's voice failed. She looked anxiously at her friend, and added:
"What would be the result if it were known afterwards—when Denzil is elected?"
"It's hard to say. But tell me, Lily: is therenoone who has been admitted to your confidence?"
What purpose would be served by keeping back the name? Lilian's eyes fell as she answered.
"Mr. Glazzard knows."
"Mr. Eustace Glazzard?"
Lilian explained how and when it had become necessary to make him a sharer in the secret.
"Do you believe," Mrs. Wade asked, "that Northway really discovered you by chance?"
"I don't know. He says so. I can only feel absolutely sure that Mr. Glazzard has nothing to do with it."
Mrs. Wade mused doubtfully.
"Absolutely sure?"
"Oh, how is it possible? If you knew him as well as we do!—Impossible!—He came to see us this very morning, on his way to be married, and laughed and talked!"
"You are right, no doubt," returned the other, with quiet reassurance. "If it wasn't chance, some obscure agency has been at work. You must remember, Lily, that only by a miracle could you have lived on in security."
"I have sometimes felt that," whispered the sufferer, her head falling.
"And it almost seems," went on Mrs. Wade, "as if Northway really had no intention of using his power to extort money. To be sure, your own income is not to be despised by a man in his position; but most rascals would have gone to Mr. Quarrier.—He is still in love with you, I suppose."
The last words were murmured in a tone which caused the hearer to look up uneasily. Mrs. Wade at once averted her face, which was curiously hard and expressionless.
"What do you think?" she said a moment after. "Would it be any use if I had a talk with him?"
"Will you?" asked Lilian, eagerly. "You may perhaps influence him. You can speak so well—so persuasively. I don't think he is utterly depraved. As you say, he would have gone first to Denzil. Perhaps he can be moved to have pity on me."
"Perhaps—but I have more faith in an appeal to his interests."
"It would be dreadful if Denzil had to live henceforth at his mercy."
"It would. But it's a matter of—of life and death."
Mrs. Wade's voice sank on those words, shaking just a little. She put her face nearer to Lilian's, but without looking at her.
"Suppose no argument will prevail with him, dear?" she continued in that low, tremulous tone. "Suppose he persists in claiming you?"
The voice had a strange effect upon Lilian's nerves. She shook with agitation, and drew away a little.
"He cannot! He has no power to take me! At the worst, we can only be driven back into solitude."
"True, dear; but it would not be the same kind of solitude as before. Think of the huge scandal, the utter ruin of brilliant prospects."
Lilian lay back and moaned in anguish. Her eyes were closed, and in that moment Mrs. Wade gazed at her for a moment only; then the widow rose from her chair, and spoke in a voice of encouragement.
"I will see him, Lily. You remain here; I'll call him into the dining-room."
She stepped to the window, and saw that Northway was standing only at a little distance. After meditating for a minute or two, she left the room very quietly, crossed the passage, and entered the room opposite, where she generally took her meals. Here again she went to the window, and again had a good view of the man on guard. A smile rose to her face.
Then she went out and signalled to Northway, who approached in an embarrassed way, doing his best to hold his head up and look dignified. Mrs. Wade regarded him with contemptuous amusement, but was careful to show nothing of this; her face and tone as she greeted him expressed more than civility—all but deference.
"Will you do me the kindness to enter for a few minutes, Mr. Northway?"
He doffed his hat, smiled sourly, and followed her into the little dining-room. But as she was closing the door, he interfered.
"Excuse me—I don't want that lady to go away until I have seen her again."
Mrs. Wade none the less closed the door, holding herself with imperturbable politeness.
"She is resting in the next room. I give you my word, Mr. Northway, that you will find her there when our conversation is over."
He looked about him with sullen uneasiness, but could not resist this lady's manner.
"Pray sit down. Quite a spring day, isn't it?"
Her tone was melancholy, tempered with the consideration of a hostess. Northway seated himself much as if he were in church. He tried to examine Mrs. Wade's face, but could not meet her look. She, in the meantime, had got the young man's visage by heart, had studied the meaning of every lineament—narrow eyes, sunken cheeks, forehead indicative of conceited intelligence, lips as clearly expressive of another characteristic. Here, at all events, was a creature she could manage—an instrument—though to what purpose she was not yet perfectly clear.
"Mr. Northway, I have been listening to a sad, sad story."
"Yes, it is sad," he muttered, feeling his inferiority to this soft-spoken woman, and moving his legs awkwardly.
"I must mention to you that my name is Mrs. Wade. I have known Lilian since she came to live at Polterham—only since then. That's a very short time ago, but we have seen a good deal of each other, and have become intimate friends. I need not tell you that I never had the faintest suspicion of what I have just learnt."
This was said certainly not in a voice of indignation but with a sadness which implied anything but approval. Northway, after trying to hold his hat in a becoming way, placed it on the floor, clicking with his tongue the while and betraying much nervousness.
"You are of course aware," pursued the lady, "that Mr. Denzil Quarrier is Liberal candidate for this borough?"
"Yes, I know."
"Until to-day, he had every prospect of being elected. It is a shocking thing—I hardly know how to express myself about it."
"If this gets known," said Northway, "I suppose he has no chance?"
"How would it be possible to vote for a man who has outraged the law on which all social life is based? He would retire immediately—no doubt."
Regarding this event as certain in any case, the listener merely nodded.
"That, I dare say, doesn't interest you?"
"I take no part in politics."
"And it is quite a matter of indifference to you whether Mr. Quarrier's career is ruined or not?"
"I don't see why I should think much about a man who has injured me as he has."
"No," conceded Mrs. Wade, sadly. "I understand that you have nothing whatever in view but recovering your wife?"
"That's all I want."
"And yet, Mr. Northway, I'm sure you see how very difficult it will be for you to gain this end."
She leaned towards him sympathetically. Northway shuffled, sucked in his cheeks, and spoke in as civil a tone as he could command.
"There are difficulties, I know. I don't ask her to come at once and live with me. I couldn't expect that. But I am determined she sha'n't go back to Mr. Quarrier. I have a right to forbid it."
"Indeed—abstractly speaking—I think you have," murmured Mrs. Wade, with a glance towards the door. "But I grieve to tell you that there seems to me no possibility of preventing her return."
"I shall have to use what means I can. You say Mr. Quarrier wouldn't care to have this made public just now."
He knew (or imagined) that the threat was idle, but it seemed to him that Mrs. Wade, already favourably disposed, might be induced to counsel Lilian for the avoidance of a scandal at this moment.
"Mr. Northway," replied the widow, "I almost think that he would care less for such a disclosurebeforethis election thanafterit."
He met her eyes, and tried to understand her. But whatever she meant, it could be of no importance to him. Quarrier was doomed by the Tory agent; on this knowledge he congratulated himself, in spite of the fact that another state of things would have been more to his interest.
"I have really nothing to do with that," he replied. "My wife is living a life of wickedness—and she shall be saved from it at once."
Mrs. Wade had much difficulty in keeping her countenance. She looked down, and drew a deep sigh.
"That is only too true. But I fear—indeed I fear—that you won't succeed in parting them. There is a reason—I cannot mention it."
Northway was puzzled for a moment, then his face darkened; he seemed to understand.
"I do so wish," pursued Mrs. Wade, with a smile of sympathy, "that I could be of some use in this sad affair. My advice—I am afraid you will be very unwilling to listen to it."
She paused, looking at him wistfully.
"What would it be?" he asked.
"I feel so strongly—just as you do—that it is dreadful to have to countenance such a state of things; but I am convinced that it would be very, veryunwiseif you wentat onceto extremities, Mr. Northway. I am a woman of the world; I have seen a good deal of life; if you allowed yourself to be guided by me, you would not regret it."
"You want to save your friends from the results of their behaviour," he replied, uneasily.
"I assure you, it's not so much that—no, I haveyourinterests in view quite as much as theirs. Now, seeing that Lilian cannot possibly take her place as your wife in fact, and that it is practically impossible to part her from Mr. Quarrier, wouldn't it be well to ask yourself what is the most prudent course that circumstances allow?"
"If it comes to that, I can always get a divorce."
Mrs. Wade reflected, but with no sign of satisfaction.
"Yes, that is open to you. You would then, of course, be enabled to marry again.—May I ask if you are quite at ease with regard to your prospects in life?"
The tone was so delicately impertinent that Northway missed its significance.
"I haven't quite decided upon anything yet."
"Judging from your conversation, I should say that you will yet find a place among active and successful men. But the beginning is everything. If I could be of any assistance to you—I would put it to you frankly, Mr. Northway: is it worth while sacrificing very solid possibilities to your—your affection for a woman who has deserted you?"
He shuffled on the chair, clicked with his tongue, and looked about him undecidedly.
"I am not to be bribed to act against my conscience," he said at length.
Mrs. Wade heard this with pleasure. The blunt, half-blustering declaration assured her that Northway's "conscience" was on the point of surrender.
"Now, let me tell you what I should like to do," she continued, bending towards him. "Will you allow me to go at once and see Mr. Quarrier?"
"And tell him?"
"Yes, let him know what has happened. I quite understand," she added, caressingly, "how very painful it would be for you to go directly to him. Will you allow me to be your intermediary? That you and he must meet is quite certain; may I smooth away the worst difficulties? I could explain to him your character, your natural delicacy, your conscientiousness. I could make him understand that he has to meet a person quite on his own level—an educated man of honourable feeling. After that, an interview between you would be comparatively easy. I should be really grateful to you if you would allow me to do you this service."
Northway was like clay in her hands. Every word had precisely the effect on which she calculated. His forehead unwrinkled itself, his lips hung loose like the mouth of a dog that is fondled, he tried not to smile. Though he thought himself as far as ever from renouncing Lilian, he began to like the idea of facing Quarrier—of exhibiting his natural delicacy, conscientiousness, and so on. Something was in the background, but of that he took no deliberate account.
A few minutes more, and Mrs. Wade had him entirely at her disposal. It was arranged that, whilst she went into the town to discover Quarrier, Northway should remain on guard, either in or about the cottage. Luncheon would be provided for him. He promised not to molest Lilian, on condition that she made no attempt to escape.
"She will stay where she is," Mrs. Wade assured him. "Your natural delicacy will, I am sure, prevent you from seeking to hold conversation with her. She is very weak, poor thing! I do hope no serious illness will follow on this shock."
Thereupon she returned to the sitting-room, where Lilian stood in an anguish of impatience.
"I think I shall manage it, dear," she whispered, in a tone of affectionate encouragement. "He has consented to see Mr. Quarrier, provided I go first and break the news."
"You, Mrs. Wade? You are going to see Denzil?"
"Dearest girl, leave it all in my hands. You cannot think what difficulties I have overcome. If I am allowed to act freely, I shall save you and him."
She explained the articles of truce, Lilian listening with distressful hope.
"And I don't think he will interfere with you meanwhile. But you can keep the door locked, you know. Annie shall bring you something to eat; I will tell her to give himhisluncheon first, and then to come very quietly with yours. It is half-past twelve. I can hardly be back in less than an hour and a half. No doubt, Mr. Quarrier will come with me."
"How good you are, dear Mrs. Wade! Oh, if you can save him!"
"Trust me, and try to sit quietly. Now, I will be off at once."
She pressed the hand that was held to her, nodded, and left the room.
It was striking one when Mrs. Wade came in sight of the Quarriers' house. At this hour Quarrier was expected at home for luncheon. He arrived whilst the visitor still waited for an answer to her ring at the door.
"But haven't you seen Lily? She told me"——
"Yes, I have seen her. She is at the cottage."
A peculiarity in her tone arrested his attention, and the look of joyous excitement which had been fixed upon his face these last few days changed to anxious inquiry.
"What's the matter?"
"She is quite well—don't imagine accidents. But I must speak to you in private."
The door had opened. Denzil led straightway to the library, where he flung aside hat and overcoat.
"What is it, Mrs. Wade?"
She stood close before him, her eyes on his. The rapid walk had brought colour to her cheek, and perhaps to the same cause was attributable her quickened breathing.
"Lily has been discovered by an enemy of hers and yours. A man named Northway."
"Damnation!"
He felt far too strongly to moderate his utterance out of regard for the listener. His features were distorted; he stared wrathfully.
"And you have left her with him? Where is she?"
"She is quite safe in my sitting-room—the key turned to protect her. He, too, is in the house, in another room. I have gained time; I"——
He could not listen.
"How did it happen?—You had no right to leave her alone with him!—How has he found her?"
"Please don't eat me up, Mr. Quarrier I have been doing my very best for you."
And she told him the story of the morning as briefly as possible. Her endeavour to keep a tone of perfect equanimity failed in the course of the narrative; once or twice there was a catching in her breath, and, as if annoyed with herself, she made an impatient gesture.
"And this fellow," cried Quarrier, when she ceased, "imagines that I am at his mercy! Let him do what he likes—let him go into the market-place and shout his news!—We'll go back at once."
"You are prepared, then, to have this known all over Polterham?" Mrs. Wade asked, looking steadily at him.
"I don't care a jot! Let the election go to the devil! Do you think I will submit Lily to a day of such torture? This very evening we go to London. How does she bear it?"
"Very well indeed."
"Like a brave, good girl! Do you think I would weigh the chance of election against her misery?"
"It seems to me," was the cold answer, "that you have done so already."
"Has she complained to you?"
"Oh, no! But I understand now what always puzzled me. I understand her"——
She checked herself, and turned quietly from him. Strategy must always be liable to slips from one cause or another, and Mrs. Wade's prudence had, for the moment, yielded to her impulses.
"You think she has all along been unhappy?"
"No, nothing of the kind. But when we have been speaking of the position of women—that kind of thing—I have noticed something strange—an anxiety. I was only going to say that, after having succeeded thus far, it seems a pity to lose everything when a little prudence—"
She waved her hand.
"Do you believe," Denzil asked, "that his story of finding her by mere chance is true?"
"Lilian tells me that only your most intimate friend shared the secret."
"Glazzard? Of coursehehas nothing to do with it. But some one else may have"——
He walked apart, brooding. Mrs. Wade seated herself, and became thoughtful.
"What sort of a fellow is this?" Quarrier asked, of a sudden.
"It depends who is dealing with him," she answered, meeting his look with eyes full of sympathetic expression. "I read him at once, and managed him. He is too weak for serious villainy. He doesn't seem to have thought of extorting money from you. Lilian was his only object. He would have taken her away by force."
"Come—we mustn't lose time."
"Mr. Quarrier, do be calm, and let us talk before we go. She is quite safe. And as for Northway, I am perfectly sure that you can keep him silent."
"You think it possible?"
"If you will consent to follow in the path I have prepared. I have taken no small trouble."
She looked up at him and smiled.
"You have behaved like a true friend, Mrs. Wade—it is no more than I should have expected of you. But what have you planned? Think how this secret has already spread—what hope is there of finally hushing it up? Glazzard and you would never breathe a syllable; but how, short of manslaughter, could I assure the silence of a blackguard like this Northway? If I let him blackmail me, I am done for: I should be like the fools in plays and novels, throwing half my possessions away, and all in vain."
"Pray remember," urged the other, "that this Northway is by no means the rascal of melodrama. He has just enough brains to make him conceited, and is at the disposal of any one who plays upon his conceit. With much trouble I induced him to regard you as a source of profit." She broke off and seemed to falter. "I think you won't find fault with me, Mr. Quarrier, for trying to do this?"
"You did it in the friendliest spirit."
"And not indiscreetly, I hope." She looked at him for a moment, and continued: "He is bribable, but you must go to work carefully. For instance, I think if you offered to give him a good start in a commercial career—by your personal recommendation, I mean—that would have more effect than an offer of money. And then, again, in this way you guard yourself against the perils of which you were speaking. Place him well, so that he considers himself a respectable, responsible man, and for his own sake he won't torment you. Couldn't you send him to some one over in Sweden—some house of business?"
Denzil pondered, with knitted brows.
"I have no faith in it!" he exclaimed at length, beginning to walk about. "Come—I want to get to Lilian; she must be in misery. I will order the carriage; it will be needed to bring her back."
He rang the bell violently; a servant appeared, and hurried away to do his bidding.
"Mrs. Wade," he said, as soon as the door had closed, "shouldn't I do better to throw up the game? I hate these underhand affairs! I don't think I could go through with the thing—I don't, indeed! Speak your whole mind. I am not a slave of ambition—at bottom I care precious little for going into Parliament. I enjoyed the excitement of it—I believe I have a knack of making speeches; but what does it all amount to? Tell me your true thought." He drew near to her. "Shall I throw it up and go abroad with my wife?—mywife! that is her true name!"
He looked a fine fellow as he spoke this; better than he had looked on the platform. Mrs. Wade gazed at him fixedly, as if she could not take away her eyes. She trembled, and her forehead was wrung with pain.
"Do this," she replied, eagerly, "if you wish to make Lilian unhappy for the rest of her life."
"What do you mean?"
"It seems I understand her better than you do—perhaps because I am a woman. She dreads nothing so much as the thought thatshehas been the ruin of your prospects. You have taught her to believe that you are made for politics; you can never undo that. The excitement of this election had fixed the belief in her for ever. Forhersake, you are bound to make every attempt to choke this scandal! Be weak—give in—and (she is weak too) it's all over with her happiness. Her life would be nothing but self-reproach."
"No, no, no! For a short time, perhaps, but security would be the best thing of all for her."
"Try, then—try, and see the result!"
She spoke with suppressed passion, her voice shaking. Denzil turned away, struggled with his thoughts, again faced her. Mrs. Wade read his features as if her life depended on what he would resolve. Seeing him in a misery of indecision, she repeated, at greater length and more earnestly still, her cogent reasonings. Quarrier argued in reply, and they were still thus engaged when it was announced that the carriage waited.
"Let us go!" He threw his overcoat on to his shoulders.
Mrs. Wade caught his hand.
"Are you bent on doing the hopeless thing?"
"Let us talk in the carriage. I can't wait any longer."
But in the carriage both kept silence. Mrs. Wade, exhausted by stress of emotion, by the efforts of her scheming brain, lay back as if she had abandoned the contest; Denzil, his face working ceaselessly, stared through the windows. When they were nearing their destination, the widow leaned towards him.
"I have done my best for you. I have nothing so much at heart as your welfare—and Lilian's."
He pressed her hand, too much disturbed to think of the singular way in which she spoke. Then the vehicle stopped. Denzil assisted his companion to alight, and, whilst she was opening the house-door, bade the coachman go up and down till he was summoned. Then he sprang after Mrs. Wade, learnt from her where Lilian was, and at once tried to enter the sitting-room. The door was locked.
"Lily!" he called, in a low voice. "Open, dear! It is I!"
The key turned rapidly. He rushed in, and clasped Lilian in his arms. She could not utter a word, but clung to him sobbing and wailing.
"Don't!—don't, dear girlie! Try to be quiet—try to command yourself."
"Can you do anything?" she uttered at length. "Is there any hope?"
"What do you wish, Lily, dearest? What shall I do?"
The common sense of manliness urged him to put no such questions, to carry her away without a word, save of tender devotion, to escape with her into quietness, and let all else go as it would. But Mrs. Wade's warning had impressed him deeply. It went with his secret inclination; for, at this stage of the combat, to lose all his aims would be a bitter disappointment. He thought of the lifelong ostracism, and feared it in a vague way.
"Mrs. Wade thinks he can be persuaded to leave us alone," Lilian replied, hurriedly, using simple words which made her seem childlike, though at the same moment she was nerving herself to heroic effort. "See him, and do what you can, Denzil. I did my utmost, dear. Oh, this cruel chance that brought him here!"
She would have given years of her life to say "Sacrifice all, and let us go!" He seemed even to invite her to say it, but she strove with herself. Sacrifice of his career meant sacrifice of the whole man. Not inhereyes, oh no!—but she had studied him so well, and knew that he could no longer be content in obscurity. She choked her very soul's desire.
"Shall I try to buy him off, Lily?"
"Do try, darling!"
"But can you face what will come afterwards—the constant risks?"
"Anything rather than you shall be ruined!"
A syllable would have broken down her heroism. It was on his tongue. He had but to say "Ruin!—what do I care for ruin inthatsense?" and she would have cried with delight. But he kept it back.
"Sit down and wait for me. I will go and see him."
One more embrace, and he left her. Mrs. Wade was talking with Northway in the dining-room, talking hurriedly and earnestly. She heard Quarrier's step and came to the door.
"In here?" Denzil asked.
She nodded and came out. Then the door closed behind him.
Northway stood near the window. He had eaten—luncheon was still on the table—and had been smoking to calm his nerves, but at the sight of Quarrier he became agitated They inspected each other. Denzil's impulse was to annihilate his contemptible enemy with fierceness of look and word; and in Northway jealousy fought so strongly with prudence that a word of anger would have driven him to revengeful determination. But a few moments of silence averted this danger. Quarrier said to himself that there was no use in half measures. He had promised Lilian to do his best, and his own desire pointed to the same end. Swallowing his gall, he spoke quietly.
"Mr. Northway, we can't talk as if we were friends; but I must remember that you have never intentionally done me any wrong—that it isIwho am immediately to blame for this state of things. I hope you will talk it over with me"——
His voice failed, but the first step had been taken. He sat down, motioning the other to a chair.
"I can't allow my wife to live any longer in this way," began the adversary, with blundering attempt at dignified speech.
"My wife" was like a blow to Denzil; he flushed, started, yet controlled himself. What Mrs. Wade had told him of Northway's characteristics came into his mind, and he saw that this address might be mere bluster.
"It's very natural for you to speak in that way; but there is no undoing what has happened. I must say that at once, and as firmly as possible. We may talk of how I can compensate you for—for the injury; but of nothing else."
He ended with much mental objurgation, which swelled his throat.
"You can't compensate a man," returned Northway, "for an injury of this kind."
"Strictly speaking, no. But as it can't be helped—as I wronged you without knowing you—I think I may reasonably offer to do you whatever good turn is in my power. Please to tell me one thing. Have you spoken to any one except Mrs. Wade of what you have discovered?"
"No—to no one."
It might be true or not. Denzil could only hope it was, and proceed on that assumption.
"I am sure I may trust your word," he said, beginning to use diplomacy, with the immediate result that Northway's look encouraged him. "Now, please tell me another thing, as frankly. Can I, as a man of some means and influence, offer you any acceptable service?"
There was silence. Northway could not shape a reply.
"You have been in commerce, I think?" proceeded the other. "Should you care to take a place in some good house of business on the Continent, or elsewhere abroad? I think it's in my power to open a way for you such as you would not easily make by your own exertions."
The listener was suffering. But for one thing, this offer would have tempted him strongly; but that one thing made it idle for him to think of what was proposed. To-day or to-morrow Quarrier would be exposed by his plotting enemies, and thereupon any bargain made with reference to the future would collapse. If he were to profit by Quarrier at all, it must needs be in the shape of a payment which could not be recovered.
"I don't care to go into business again," he said, with a mingling of real annoyance and affected superiority. "I have other views."
"Can I help to advance them?" asked Denzil, sickening under the necessity of speaking fair.
The dialogue lasted for half an hour more. Jealousy notwithstanding, Northway had made up his mind to gain what was to be gained. Lilian was beyond his reach; it would be foolish to go back to his poverty and cloudy overlook when solid assistance was held out to him. With much posturing and circumlocution, he came at length to the avowal that a sum of ready money would not be refused.
"Are you wise in preferring this to the other kind of help?" Denzil urged.
"I have my own views."
Quarrier ridiculed himself for what he was doing. How could he pretend to trust such a fellow? Again, there was only the hope that a bribe might be efficacious.
"I will give you five hundred pounds," he said, "on condition that you leave England at once."
The bid was too low. Northway would be satisfied with twice as much, provided it were paid forthwith. Pondering, Quarrier decided that he was about to commit an absurdity. A thousand pounds—and how much more in future? He looked Northway in the eyes.
"Here is my last word. I don't greatly care whether this secret comes out or not. If I am to be at your mercy henceforth, I had rather bid you do what you like; it really doesn't matter much to me. I will give you five hundred pounds at once—a cheque on a Polterham banker; moreover, if my secret is kept, I will do you the other service I offered. But that's all I have to say. If it doesn't suit you, you must do what you please."
His boldness was successful. Northway could gain nothing by betrayal of the secret—which he believed to be no secret at all. With show of indifference, he accepted what was obtainable.
"Then come and drive with me into the town," said Denzil.
Thereupon he stepped out and entered the sitting-room, where the two women were together. They looked eager inquiry, and he smiled.
"Managed, I think. He goes with me. Lily, I'll be back for you as soon as possible."
A moment, and they watched the carriage roll away.
This evening there was a great dinner-party at Colonel Catesby's; a political dinner. Lilian had carefully prepared for the occasion. In Quarrier's opinion, she would far outshine her previous appearances; she was to wear certain jewels which he had purchased on a recent visit to town—at an outlay of which he preferred to say nothing definite. "They are the kind of thing," he remarked, with a significant smile, "that can be passed on to one's children."
But would it be possible for her to keep the engagement? Through the afternoon she lay in her bedroom with drawn blinds, endeavouring to sleep. Once or twice Denzil entered, very softly, and stood by her for a moment; she looked at him and smiled, but did not speak. At half-past six he brought her tea with his own hand. Declaring herself quite recovered, she rose.
"This is no such important affair that you must go at all costs," he said, regarding her anxiously. "Say you feel unable, and I'll send a message at once."
Already she had assured him that it would disappoint her greatly not to go. Lilian meant, of course, that she could not bear to disappointhim, and to make confusion in their hostess's arrangements. There was a weight upon her heart which made it a great effort even to move, to speak; but she hoped to find strength when the time came.
"You are quite sure that he has gone, Denzil—gone for good?"
"I am perfectly sure of it. You needn't have another moment's fear."
He tried to believe it. By this time, if he had kept his promise, Northway was in London. But what faith was to be put in such a man's declarations? It might be that the secret was already known to other people; between now and polling-day there might come the crowning catastrophe. Yet the man's interest seemed to impose silence upon him, and for Lilian's sake it was necessary to affect absolute confidence.
They went to the dinner, and the evening passed without accident. Lilian was universally admired; pallor heightened her beauty, and the assurance of outlived danger which Denzil had succeeded in imparting gave to her conversation a life and glow that excited interest in all who spoke with her.
"Mr. Quarrier," said the hostess, playfully, in an aside, "if you were defeated at Polterham, I don't think you ought to care much. You have already been elected by such a charming constituency!"
But there followed a night of sleeplessness. If exhaustion pressed down her eyelids for a moment, some image of dread flashed upon her brain and caused her to start up with a cry. Himself worn out and suffering a reaction of despondency, Quarrier more than once repented what he had done. In Lilian's state of health such a shock as this might have results that would endanger her life. She had not a strong constitution; he recalled the illness of a year ago, and grew so anxious that his fits of slumber gave him no refreshment, In the early dawn, finding that she was awake, he spoke to her of the necessity of avoiding excitement during the next few days.
"I wish you could go away till the affair is over."
"Oh, there is no need of that! I couldn't be away from you."
"Then at all events keep quietly at home. There'll be the deuce of an uproar everywhere to-day."
"We shall lunch at Mary's, you know. I had rather be there than sitting alone."
"Well, Molly will be good company for you, I dare say. But do try not to excite yourself. Don't talk much; we'll tell them you are very tired after last night. As soon as ever the fight is done, we'll be off somewhere or other for a few weeks. Don't get up till midday; anything interesting you shall know at once."
At breakfast Denzil received a note from Mrs. Wade, sent by hand. "Do let me know how Lilian is. The messenger will wait for a reply." He wrote an answer of warm friendliness, signing it, "Ever sincerely yours." Mrs. Wade had impressed him with her devotion; he thought of her with gratitude and limitless confidence.
"If it had been Molly, instead," he said to himself; "I can't be at all sure how she would have behaved. Religion and the proprieties might have been too much for her good nature; yes, theywouldhave been. After all, these emancipated women are the most trustworthy, and Mrs. Wade is the best example I have yet known."
When Mrs. Liversedge welcomed her sister-in-law at luncheon, she was stricken with alarm.
"My dear girl, you look like a ghost! This won't do," she added, in a whisper, presently. "Youmustkeep quiet!"
But the Liversedges' house was no place for quietness. Two or three vigorous partisans put in an appearance at the meal, and talked with noisy exhilaration. Tobias himself had yielded to the spirit of the hour; he told merry stories of incidents that had come under his notice that morning. One of these concerned a well-known publican, a stalwart figure on the Tory side.
"I am assured that three voters have been drinking steadily for the last week at his expense. He calculates that delirium tremens will have set in, in each case, by the day after to-morrow."
"Who are these men?" asked Lilian, eagerly. "Why can't we save them in time?"
"Oh, the thing is too artfully arranged. They are old topers; no possibility of interfering."
"I can't see"——
"Lilian," interposed Mrs. Liversedge, "what was the material of that wonderful dress Mrs. Kay wore last night?"
"I don't know, Mary; I didn't notice it.—But surely if it isknownthat these men are"——
It was a half-holiday for the Liversedge boys, and they were anticipating the election with all the fervour of British youth. That morning there had been a splendid fight at the Grammar School; they described it with great vigour and amplitude, waxing Homeric in their zeal. Dickinson junior had told Tom Harte that Gladstone was a "blackguard"; whereupon Tom smote him between the eyes, so that the vile calumniator measured his length in congenial mud. The conflict spread. Twenty or thirty boys took coloured rosettes from their pockets (they were just leaving school) and pinned them to their coats, then rushed to combat with party war-cries. Fletcher senior had behaved like a brutal coward (though alas! a Gladstonian—it was sorrowfully admitted), actually throwing a stone at an enemy who was engaged in single fight, with the result that he had cut open the head of one of his own friends—a most serious wound. An under-master (never a favourite, and now loathed by the young Liversedges as a declared Tory) had interposed in the unfairest way—what else could be expected of him? To all this Mrs. Liversedge gave ear not without pride, but as soon as possible she drew Lilian apart into a quiet room, and did her best to soothe the feverishness which was constantly declaring itself.
About three o'clock Mrs. Wade called. She had not expected to find Lilian here. There was a moment's embarrassment on both sides. When they sat down to talk, the widow's eyes flitted now and then over Lilian's face, but she addressed herself almost exclusively to Mrs. Liversedge, and her visit lasted only a quarter of an hour. On leaving, she went into the town to make some purchases, and near the Liberal committee-rooms it was her fortune to meet with Quarrier.
"I have wanted to see you," he said, regarding her anxiously. "Lily has got over it much better than I expected; but it won't do—she can't go on in this excitement."
"I have just seen her at your sister's. She doesn't look very well"
"Could I venture to ask one more kindness of you, Mrs. Wade? May she come to you, say the day after to-morrow, and stay over night, and over polling-day?"
"I shall be very glad indeed," faltered the widow, with something in her face which did not seem to be reluctance, though it was unlike pleasure.
"Are you quite sure that it isn't asking too much of you? At my sister's she is in a perpetual uproar; it's worse than at home. And I don't know where else to send her—indeed I don't. But I am getting frightened, that's the truth. If she could be with you during the polling-day"——
"How can you hesitate to ask such a simple thing?" broke in Mrs. Wade. "Shall I ask her myself?"
"You are a good friend. Your conversation will have a soothing effect. She likes you so much, and gives such weight to everything you say. Try to set her mind at ease, Mrs. Wade; you can do it if any one can."
"I will write to her, and then call to-morrow."
Again Lilian had a night without thorough rest, and for the greater part of the next day she was obliged to keep her room. There Mrs. Wade visited her, and they talked for a long time; it was decided that Lilian should go to Pear-tree Cottage on the following afternoon, and remain in seclusion until the contest was over.
She came down at five o'clock. Denzil, who had instructed the servants that she was at home to no one, sat with her in the library, holding her hand.
"I am quite well," Lilian declared again and again. "I feel quite easy in mind—indeed I do. As you wish it, I will go to Mrs. Wade's, but"——
"It will be very much better. To tell you the truth, girlie, I shall feel so much freer—knowing you are out of the row, and in such good care."
She looked at him.
"How wretched to be so weak, Denzil! I might have spared you more than half what you have suffered, if I hadn't given way so."
"Nonsense! Most women would have played the coward—andthatyou never could! You have stood it bravely, dear. But it's your health I fear for. Take care of it for my sake."
Most of the evening he was away, and again the whole of next morning. But when the time came for her to leave, they were sitting once more, as they had done so often, hand in hand, their love and trust stronger than ever, too strong to find expression in mere words.
"If I go into Parliament," said Denzil, "it's you I have to thank for it. You have faced and borne everything rather than disappoint my aims."
He raised her fingers to his lips. Then the arrival of the carriage was announced, and when the door had closed again, they held each other for a moment in passionate embrace.
"Good-bye for a night and a day at longest," he whispered by the carriage door. "I shall come before midnight to-morrow."
She tried to say good-bye, but could not utter a sound. The wheels grated, and she was driven rapidly away.