“Ambition,” she said, with a slow emphasis, “is the keynote of Mr. Quarrier’s character.  If you haven’t understood that, you don’t yet know him—­indeed you don’t!  A noble ambition, mind.  He is above all meanness.  In wishing to take a foremost part in politics, he cares, at heart, very little for the personal dignity it will bring him; his desire—­I am convinced—­is to advance all causes that appeal to an honest and feeling man.  He has discovered that he can do this in a way he had never before suspected—­by the exercise of a splendid gift of eloquence.  What a deplorable thing if that possibility had been frustrated!”

Lilian murmured an assent.  Silence followed, and she closed her eyes.  In a minute or two Mrs. Wade turned to look; the expression which grew upon her face as she watched furtively was one of subtlest malice.  Of scorn, too.  Had she been in the position of that feeble creature, how differently would she have encountered its perils!

“Is your head any better?” she asked, just above her breath.

“It burns!—­Feel my hand, how hot it is!”

“You are feverish.  We have talked too much, I fear.”

“No; I like to hear you talk.  And it passes the time.  Oh, I hope Denzil won’t be very late!”

There sounded a knock at the front door, a heavy rap such as would be given by some rustic hand.

“What can that be?” Lilian exclaimed, raising herself.

“Nothing, dear—­nothing.  Some errand boy.”

The servant was heard in the passage.  She brought a letter, and said a messenger waited for the reply.  Mrs. Wade looked at the address; the hand was unknown to her.

“From Denzil?” asked Lilian.

The other made no reply.  What she found in the envelope was a note from Northway, saying he was close by and wished to see her.  After a moment’s hesitation she went to the door, where a boy was standing.

“Will you tell the person who gave you this note that he may come here?”

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.”