Wade looked from her to the man in the background, who again had
awkwardly raised his hat--a cheap but new cylinder, which, together
with his slop-made coat and trousers, classed him among uncertain
specimens of humanity.

"Will you let him come in?" Lilian whispered, a sob at length breaking
her voice.

The widow was perfectly self-possessed. Her eyes gleamed very brightly
and glanced hither and thither with the keenest scrutiny. She held
Lilian's hand, answering in a low voice:

"Trust me, dear! I'm so glad you have come. What is his name?"

"Mr. Northway."

Mrs. Wade addressed him, and invited him to enter; but Northway, having
ascertained that there was no escape from the cottage which he could
not watch, drew back.

"Thank you," he said; "I had rather wait out here. If that lady wants
me, I shall be within reach."

Mrs. Wade nodded, and drew her friend in. Lilian of a sudden lost her
physical strength; she had to be supported, almost carried, into the
sitting-room. The words of kindness with which Mrs. Wade sought to
recover her had a natural enough effect; they invited an hysterical
outbreak, and for several minutes the sufferer wailed helplessly. In
the meantime she was disembarrassed of her out-door clothing. A
stimulant at length so far restored her that she could speak
connectedly.

"I don't know what you will think of me.--I am obliged to tell you
something I hoped never to speak of. Denzil ought to know first what
has happened; but I can't go to him.--I must tell you, and trust your
friendship. Perhaps you can help me; you will--I know you will if you
can."

"Anything in my power," replied the listener, soothingly. "Whatever you
tell me is perfectly safe. I think you know me well enough, Lily."

Then Lilian began, and told her story from first to last.

CHAPTER XXI

Told it rapidly, now and then confusedly, but with omission of nothing
essential. So often she had reviewed her life, at successive stages of
culture and self-knowledge. Every step had been debated in heart and
conscience. She had so much to say, yet might not linger in the
narration, and feared to seem eager in the excuse of what she had
done. To speak of these things to one of her own sex was in itself a
great relief, yet from time to time the recollection that she was
betraying Denzil's Secret struck her with cold terror. Was not this
necessity a result of her weakness? A stronger woman would perhaps have
faced the sit