Lilian, anxiously watching her face, found it
difficult to interpret the look of suppressed excitement. Censure
she could not read there; pain, if ever visible, merely flitted over
brow and lips; at moments she half believed that her hearer was
exulting in this defiance of accepted morality--what else could be
the significance of that flash in the eyes; that quiver of the
nostrils--all but a triumphant smile? They sat close to each
other, Lilian in the low basket-chair, the widow on a higher seat,
and when the story came to an end, their hands met.
"How can I save Denzil?" was Lilian's last word. "Anything--any
sacrifice I If this becomes known, his whole life is ruined!"
Mrs. Wade pressed the soft, cold fingers, and kept a thoughtful
silence.
"It's a strange coincidence," she said at length, "very strange that
this should happen on the eve of the election."
"The secret _must_ be kept until"----
Lilian's voice failed. She looked anxiously at her friend, and
added:
"What would be the result if it were known afterwards-when Denzil is
elected?"
"It's hard to say. But tell me, Lily: is there _no_ one who has been
admitted to your confidence?"
What purpose would be served by keeping back the name? Lilian's eyes
fell as she answered.
"Mr. Glazzard knows."
"Mr. Eustace Glazzard?"
Lilian explained how and when it had become necessary to make him a
sharer in the secret.
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