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?"
"Very likely. If not to-night, he will to-morrow. Will Mr. Quarrier pay him again, do you think?" She put the question in a tone which to Lilian sounded strange, all but hostile.
"I can't say," was the weary, distracted answer.
"Oh, I am sorry for you, Lilian!" pursued the other, in agitation, though again her voice was curiously harsh. "You will reproach yourself so if his life's purpose is frustrated! But remember, it's not your fault. It was he who took the responsibility from the first. It was he who chose to brave this possible danger. If the worst comes, you must strengthen yourself."