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.