Mary Wells then slipped into the dressing-room, and found Lady Bassett looking pale and wild. She had heard every word. “There, he is better already,” said Mary Wells. “He shall walk in the garden with you this afternoon.” “What have you done? I can't look him in the face now. Suppose he speaks to me?” “He will not. I'll manage that. You won't have to say a word. Only listen to what I say, and don't make a liar of me. He is better already.” “How will this end?” cried Lady Bassett, helplessly. “What shall I do?” “You must go downstairs, and not come here for an hour at least, or you'll spoil my work. Mr. Angelo is in the drawing-room.” “I will go to him.” Lady Bassett slipped out by the other door, and it was three hours, instead of one, before she returned. For the first time in her life she was afraid to face her husband. CHAPTER XIX. MEANTIME Mary Wells had a long conversation with her master; and after that she retired into the adjoining room, and sat down to sew baby-linen clandestinely. After a considerable tune Lady Bassett came in, and, sinking into a chair, covered her face with her hands. She had her bonnet on. Mary Wells looked at her with black eyes that flashed triumph. After so surveying her for some time she said: “I have been at him again, and there's a change for the better already. He is not the same man. You go and see else.” Lady Bassett now obeyed her servant: she rose and crept like a culprit into Sir Charles's room. She found him clean shaved, dressed to perfection, and looking more cheerful than she had seen him for many a long day. “Ah, Bella,” said he, “you have your bonnet on; let us have a walk in the garden.” Lady Bassett opened her eyes and consented eagerly, though she was very tired. They walked together; and Sir Charles, being a man that never broke his word, put no direct question to Lady Bassett, but spoke cheerfully of the future, and told her she was his hope and his all; she would baffle his enemy, and cheer his desolate hearth. She blushed, and looked confused and distressed; then he smiled, and talked of indifferent matters, until a pain in his head stopped him; then he became confused, and, putting his hand piteously to his head, proposed to retire at once to his own room. Lady Bassett brought him in, and he reposed in silence on the sofa. The next day, and, indeed, many days afterward, presented similar features. Mary Wells talked to her master of the bright days to come, of the joy that would fill the house if all went well, and of the defeat in store for Richard Bassett. She spoke of this man with strange virulence; said “she would think no more of sticking a knife into him than of eating her dinner;” and in saying this she showed the white of her eye in a manner truly savage and vindictive.