“What is the difficulty, Mr. Northway?”

Her suave tone reassured him, and he seated himself.  His real purpose in coming was to discover, if possible, whether Quarrier’s position was still unassailed.  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 hoarser 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?”