And as he raised his cold eyes upon his son it pleased his spirit of intrigue, and of domination through intrigue, that he had already received a letter from Flaxman giving precisely opposite advice, and did not intend to tell Stephen anything about it. Stephen's impulsive candour, however, appealed to him much more than Flaxman's reticence. It would indeed be physically and morally impossible for him--anonymous letters or no--to lock the scandal much longer within his own breast. It had become a living and burning thing, like some wild creature straining at a leash. * * * * * A little while later Stephen found himself alone. He believed himself to have got an undertaking from his father that Meynell should be communicated with promptly--perhaps that very evening. But the terms of the promise were not very clear; and the young man's mind was full of a seething wrath and unhappiness. If the story were true, so far as Hester and her unacknowledged mother were concerned--and, as we have seen, there was that in his long and intimate knowledge of Hester's situation which, as he listened, had suddenly fused and flashed in a most unwilling conviction--then, what dire, what pitiful need, on their part, of protection and of help! If indeed any friendly consideration for him, Stephen, had entered into Meynell's conduct, the young man angrily resented the fact. He paced up and down the library for a time, divided thus between a fierce contempt for Meynell's slanderers and a passionate pity for Hester. His father had gone to Markborough. Theresa was, he believed, in the garden giving orders. Presently the clock on the bookcase struck three, and Stephen awoke with a start to the engagements of the day. He was in the act of opening the library door when he suddenly remembered--Maurice! He blamed himself for not having remembered earlier that Maurice was at home--for not having asked his father about him. He went to look for him, could not find him in any of the sitting-rooms, and finally mounted to the second-floor bedroom which had always been his brother's. "Maurice!" He knocked. No answer. But there was a hurried movement inside, and something that sounded like the opening of a drawer. He called again, and tried the door. It was locked. But after further shuffling inside, as though some one were handling papers, it was thrown open. "Well, Maurice, I hope I haven't disturbed you in anything very important. I thought I must come and have a look at you. Are you all right?" "Come in, old fellow," said Maurice with affected warmth--"I was only writing a few letters. No room for anybody downstairs but the pater and Theresa, so I have to retreat up here." "And lock yourself in?" said Stephen, laughing. "Any secrets going?" And as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, while Maurice returned to his chair, he could not prevent himself from looking with a certain keen scrutiny both at the room and his younger brother.