At that hour Mrs. Wade and her guest were together in the sitting-room. The lamp had just been lighted, the red blind drawn down. Lilian reclined on a couch; she looked worse in health than when she had taken leave of Denzil; her eyes told of fever, and her limbs were relaxed. Last night she had not enjoyed an hour of sleep; the strange room and the recollection of Northway's visit to this house (Quarrier, in his faith that Mrs. Wade's companionship was best for Lilian, had taken no account of the disagreeable association) kept her nerves in torment, and with the morning she had begun to suffer from a racking headache. Mrs. Wade was talking, seated by the table, on which her arms rested. She, too, had a look of nervous tension, and her voice was slightly hoarse. "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.